What goes through my mind daily and has done for almost a year…

 

Will the scars be big?

Will I be butchered?

Will I be punished by God for being vain?

Should I have implants instead? But don’t they need replacing? Hmm, costly and I heard they can slip and stick to your ribs.

Pain.

What about when i’m sixty with the tits of a twenty year old, won’t I look odd?

Pull yourself together! Gawd! I’m only thirty two, a young woman with my whole life ahead of me, I can’t live for the rest of forever with this level of confidence. Endlessly checking my chest, hiding to get changed, always being aware of that part of my body.

But, the money. I feel so greedy to take that away from my family.

Infection.

What if they do a great job but I basically have no breasts afterwards because they are so small?

Nipple sensation.

What if they then sag five years post op,  as that area of skin is already weakened right?

I want curvy lumpy bumpy’s not sporty pancakes, will an up lift give me that?

What if they turn out wonky or I’m not quite happy with one of them and need to go back under the knife?

What if I hate them and wish I’d never done it?

I could end up looking like a doll, is it possible to have surgery and for it to be almost impossible to tell?

I’ll have to see a consultant for some advice, should I see a consultant?

What If I don’t like the consultant? Will I just have to keep spending £250 a pop until I find one I trust?

What if I just gain a tonne of weight, they should plump out then hey?

Maybe I’ll just give it six more months and see how I feel by then, I may be happy with them by then. The exercise, creams and vitamins may have taken effect too.

I wish I could wear a bikini.

Where’s the chocolate and cheese…

 

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