I got to the Dr.’s early. I filled out the long forms to identify my allergies, current medications etc. At least these forms were all centered on the page and legible. The lady behind the desk didn’t look like what I was expecting for a receptionist at a Plastic Surgeon’s office. I was expecting blond, perky and fake boobs. What I got was middle aged, with bad hair. So I sat myself down and looked at the people coming and going from the office. Clearly not the standard Beverly Hills set. Well, so I’m in the DC area, so perhaps Beverly Hills doesn’t apply. Fine. Clearly not the Diplomatic Wives set.
The Doctor is in scrubs. I’m expecting suit and tie and used car salesman spiel. I guess not everything in real life mimics reality TV. Dude doesn’t even look like he’s had anything done to himself. The nurse (who’s chin has been swallowed by her neck) calls me back and leaves half of a paper hospital gown for me to put on. I am to remove all of everything to the waist. So much for having put on my best bra.
The room is quite chilly, but I do as instructed. The nurse returns with scrub doctor in tow, and the examination begins with a measuring tape. He measures how far down my breasts hang. 26.5 cm on the left and 28 cm on the right. Then out comes the digital camera. I pose from the front and from the side while he snaps away. Really, it’s too early in the morning for all of this nakedness and humiliation. But the insurance company must have photos to prove that they ought to pay for this surgery. So I stand their half naked with a strange man taking pictures of me. What a way to start Monday.
Granted, if the outcome were a little more cheerful, I’d be a lot happier about the whole naked in the morning thing.
So the nurse goes out to retrieve a 400 g silicone implant. The doctor wants me to have a good understanding of what 400 grams feels like. He instructs me to use my right hand to hold my left breast and to stick out my left hand, in which he drops 400 g of silicone.
Oy. That’s a puppy. If it were cocaine, I could get rich on the sale. Immediate sobriety. 400g is the average insurance requirement for reduction, if the insurance company is going to pay for it. From the comparative weights, it feels like my boobs don’t weigh any more than 400g as it stands. He’s got to suck out all of that for the insurance to pay for it? This is not looking good.
They leave, and I get dressed for the second part of the consultation, the one where he shows me photos of the work, describes the incisions, and shows me how the standard boob reduction is done. I’m even more convinced in looking at these illustrations that a standard boob job is NOT what I want. Even the diagrams look violent and invasive. I’m okay with keeping the general shape of my breasts, I just want the size reduced. To avoid pain and gore, I’ll go without the pretty standard breast shape with nipples that point to the sky but have no sensation left.
Now, I sit with the insurance lady. With out insurance, this sucker will cost upwards of $7,000. She tells me they will submit the pre-registration to the insurance and she’ll call me and tell me what they say as soon as she hears back. I go to work.
Walking from the car to the office, I’m considering this whole weight/volume thing. Because fat, comparatively, doesn’t weigh that much. It just has a large volume, so the volume of fat that is required to make up a certain weight is significant.
Once at work, I start doing some calculations. For instance, one gram is equal to .00220462262 pounds. 400 grams is equal to .881849048 pounds. I check with the calculator on the insurance’s web site. At a body area factor of 1.7 (which, given my weight and height, is where I am) they would have to remove 550 g from each breast in order to meet the insurance cutoff. 550 g is the equivalent of 1.21 pounds. Granted, I’ve always thought the puppies must weigh a good 4 pounds a piece. Now, I’m not so sure that there is 1.21 to remove from each breast. To bring the weight requirement down to 335 grams each, I’d have to weigh 100 pounds. That’s a far cry from where the Dr.’s scale said I was a week ago.
Basically, the answer is no. Because I’m pretty sure I don’t have 1.21 pounds of each breast to donate to the cause. And I sure as hell can’t afford the $7,000 it would cost to have it done on my own.
Perhaps instead, drastic weight loss? The anorexic breast reduction, that’s the one for me. At least it’s cheap.