Breast Reduction Surgery - my journey to pert and perky.

Before I had my operation I read all I could about breast reduction surgery, including blogs of those that had experienced it but every one I found was written by girls in their teens and 20's. I wanted to hear about the experience from the perspective of someone older. And maybe, reader, so do you. 

I'm 61, six days post surgery and this is my story.


17th March 2018 - Four weeks before surgery

The doctor appeared around the curtain and her eyes grew wide. I'd 'taken my top things off' as instructed, ready for a routine breast health check. Doctor visibly stopped in her tracks and stuttered "Are those yours? I mean, have you had implants or something?"

I was slim of build with a small frame - delicate wrists, skinny neck, long longbones and size 32 G/F breasts. These enormous things dangled unhappily from my chest, making me look way out of proportion and feel constantly uncomfortable.

When we'd got over our mutual embarrassment, Doctor and I had a chat. I explained I was considering reduction surgery and she was sympathetic and encouraging. I told her how nervous I was about broaching the subject with my husband, D. It would, after all, affect him too and I wanted to have his help and support. She told me to go straight home and talk to him.

So I did.

Sometimes when you need to say something really important it comes out all wrong. The thoughts in your head get muddled up with the emotions in your heart and all sense flies out of the window. But this time it didn't. I was able to articulate clearly and fully everything that had been in my head for so long and I realised that I had to make D understand that I didn't want reassurance about my body (as he'd so often, and so kindly, given before), but to gain his understanding of how it makes me feel. He listened quietly and at the end simply said "Then you must have the surgery."

And I realised that I didn't have to carry this burden, literally and figuratively, any longer.

We went together to see the surgeon for a consultation. Mr B is a plastic surgeon, which means that as well as cosmetic surgery he carries out reconstruction work for cancer patients and those who have become disfigured in accidents, rather than a cosmetic surgeon who only does aesthetic work. He is kind, sensitive and, worryingly, slightly myopic. He validated my feelings, putting away once and for all my worries that having surgery would be selfish and vain. During an excruciating close up examination of the problem he found that the asymmetry between the two sides was so great, that that in itself would justify surgery. The skin on the bigger side had puckered, having given up its fight to support such a weight and this breast sat 3 cm lower on my chest than the other. Of course, our skin becomes thinner and more fragile as we age and the natural support it provides diminishes over time.

He told me that he doesn't have jelly molds of different cup sizes to work with and it isn't possible to 'order' an accurate size beforehand. It depends on what each body allows, the original shape of the breasts, the state of the tissue/vascular system, the aesthetics of the end result, etc., much of which he wouldn't know until he was actually doing the operation. But we agreed that a C cup would suit my frame and he said he would do what he could to achieve that size.

I trusted him completely and knew he would do the best job possible.


April 11th, 2018 - the day of my surgery:

I checked in to the hospital at 12.00pm, ready for surgery at 1.30pm. I wasn't too nervous - my over-riding emotion was excitement, followed by concern that I wouldn't wake up in time for supper. (I'm very greedy and I'd missed lunch.)

Numerous clinicians came to my room and did numerous clinical things then the big man arrived. Another excruciating 20 minutes followed with Mr B on his knees in front of me, marking the operation sites with a black pen, Nurse J in the corner as chaperone (hadn't we gone past the need for this?) and me not knowing where to look. But I felt I could put up with anything - my goal was in sight. Mr B told me that he intended to remove around 600g from one side and 400g from the other. I couldn't wait!

The prep room outside an operating theatre, where you are taken to be prepared for surgery, is a a busy place with lots of people buzzing to and fro. They are all asking questions and doing things to you at once and it takes your mind off your nerves. I was the star of the show and I felt fine. Then suddenly the butterflies came. Big time.

One of the Theatre Technicians, P, saw this immediately and in a moment of pure, intuitive sensitivity he came straight to my side. "D'you want a hand to hold?" I did, and that's how I went to sleep. I will never forget that moment and P's kindness.

If you've ever had a general anaesthetic you'll know how weird it is. One minute you are counting down from 10 or feeling 'a sharp scratch' on your hand, then you're awake! But it feels like you're in the same moment - you're still on the same number in your countdown or feeling the sharp scratch. It's suspended animation. You don't think a nano second has passed but somehow you're in a different room - the recovery room - and instead of the clock saying 1.45, it says 5.45. And it's all over. I've had ten GA's in my life and it amazes me every time. Perhaps this is how it feels to travel in a Harry Potter portkey. Or a time machine.

When I was awake enough I took a peep. OMG, they're tiny! They were also bruised, battered, covered in yellow iodine, swollen and had a drain coming out of each one. Yes, the drains - that's the yukky bit. Each drain was a plastic tube which led from my breast to a bottle that sat in a holder beside my bed. They perform gentle vacuum suction to draw fluid out of the area and the tubes were stitched into my sides. Red goo oozed slowly and constantly along the transparent tubes and into the bottles. (This is measured and the drains can only be removed when the surgeon thinks there has been sufficient drainage). When I got up to go to the bathroom Nurse C had to escort me, carry the bottles, place them on the floor by the loo and come back and do it all in reverse when I'd finished. And because I was taking on plenty of fluids via a drip, this process had to be repeated frequently.

During the night one leaked. Apparently this nearly always happens. It's very messy and bloody and Nurse C had to change my gown and all the bedding. This process caused the other side to leak and we had to do it all again.

But, and if you're considering this surgery, please listen ... there was very little pain. I had been given pain medication during the operation and every so often Nurse C brought me Paracetemol and/or Codeine but that's all. Going forward, Paracetemol was all I needed and I stopped that altogether on day three. It really isn't a painful procedure.

April 12th 2018 - Day 1

Six-thirty am and there was a flurry of activity. My door opened, Nurse C stood to attention and announced "Mr B!" I groggily sat up in bed. Mr B gently pulled one of the dressings down to reveal a sorry looking nipple that was completely black, looking totally lifeless and defeated. He had a thoughtful look on his face as he prodded it for several seconds. 

Then he pronounced me fit to go home - less than 24 hours since my surgery. But first the drains had to be removed ...

This is the worst part of the whole procedure. Skip this bit if you're squeamish. Matron M very gently and carefully cut away the stitches and slowly pulled the tube out. There is about five inches of tubing inside the breast and you can feel it siding through your body on the way out. Bleurgh! Having said that, though, it only takes a minute or two so even that's not too bad.

Lovely D arrived to take me home and was astonished at how mobile and well I was. He has taken a few days off work to be nurse, housekeeper, dog walker and chef. I had been told to take it easy for a few days so I just let him look after me. He does this extremely well and I am very lucky. My advice to you is to get yourself a Lovely D.

My friend W had breast reduction surgery several years ago and has been my mentor and my inspiration throughout this process. She was my first visitor and came bearing bras. I'd been advised to buy a sports bra in my proposed size but the ones I'd got were no good. W brought a selection for me to try and this one was the best: Marks & Spencer Collection Cotton Rich Non-Padded Full Cup Bra T3371139. Although it's not a sports bra it gives great support and soft comfort. It met with Mr B's approval too.

The wound bled quite a lot at one stage and it made me feel a bit feverish. Other than that I felt fine, lay on the sofa but walked around frequently. To aid circulation and to help avoid DVTs you are given pressure socks to wear. You put them on before the operation and should keep them on night and day (apart from showering) for at least a week. Don't rely on the socks though, get up and move about frequently!

If you don't get them on right your toe pokes out of the hole and it's really annoying!








13th April 2018 Day 2

Oh the euphoria! I can't stop gazing at my new knockers.

It was lovely to have a shower today. I'm advised that I can shower as often as I want but just to let the water run over the dressings and not to stand facing the shower head. (As if I'd want to have hot water pouring down onto my poor bruised bits ...)

It's a long operation (I think mine took about 3 1/2 hours) which means that your system has taken in a lot of anaesthetic medication. Apparently this stays in your body for a few days and can make you feel terribly tired. Several times today I flaked out completely and went into a realy deep sleep. You are advised to have someone with you for the first 24 hours; that it is illegal to drive for the first 48 hours after a GA and not to sign any important documents during this time as your brain will be addled!

14th-17th April - Days 3-6

No more painkillers needed, but I still feel very tired. The dressings looked disgusting - covered in oozy yuk so I thought they should be changed.  Went to the hospital where they told me that it was best to leave them alone. Exposing the wounds to the air, however briefly, causes a drop in tissue temperature that can take 4-5 hours to recover. This can adversely affect the healing process. So the skanky dressings stayed put.

However, I went shopping and bought this

and then had a complete melt down at the thought that I would, for the first time in my life, be able to wear something that pretty instead of the wide strapped, ugly, over-shoulder-boulder-holders I was used to. Lingerie designers try their best but it's impossible to make a large bra that is both functional and beautiful. I won't be wearing the lacy one yet though - good supportive corsetry is the name of the game for a while yet. (You are advised to wear a sports bra night and day for six weeks post-op.)




I spend a lot of time inspecting my new frontage from all angles and taking pictures of it. I send these to poor W. W has seen enough of my breasts to last a lifetime but she's as strong of stomach as she is kind of heart and assures me that "it's good to see how well you're healing". Even so, I never send any photos before breakfast.


18th April - Day 7 - Post op check up

Off I went to see my friend Mr B. "Good morning", "How are you?" and, oh blimey - there he is on his knees in front of me again. He was there to change the dressings. I thought they would stick to the wounds and maybe have to be soaked off, but they came away easily. Mercifully the black nipple didn't come away and I asked Mr B if he thinks it'll be ok. He thinks it will but didn't bother to prod it.

I expressed the hope that Mr B has good knees as he spends so much time on them. He assured me he does and we talked about his recent ski-ing holiday. Well, it filled the awkward silence.

It's lovely to have clean dressings even if everything is black and blue underneath.


19th - 23rd April - Days 8-12

I'm noticing improvements every day. I don't do things such as raising my arms high or lifting heavy objects because I'm trying to be sensible. I know instinctively what I can and can't do and if I make a bad judgement, I immediately feel a pull on the stitches and get an early warning. Sadly I don't think I'll be able to do any vacuuming, ironing or cleaning up dog sick for a while yet.

The lack of pain makes it tempting to do more than I should. I'm not saying I'm completely pain free, things are pretty tender around there, but it's easy to learn and avoid the things that cause pain. Don't let anyone hug you too tight (they probably won't - they're more afraid than you.) Don't sit down too suddenly - impact hurts. And don't roll over in bed and squash yourself - that really hurts!

I was advised to sleep propped up for the first few nights and made a nest of about six pillows to support me and build a protective wall between me and Lovely D. I don't have to be raised up now but keep the nest arrangement to support and protect my precious ones.

The bruising has gone through its' rainbow of colours and I am currently sporting a black and blue chest. (Green breasts are sooooo last week.) And they are as hard as bullets. 

I know they will soften and drop a little but right 
now I look like a dead heat in a zeppelin race.

24th April - Day 13 - Second follow up appointment

I like punctuality and Mr B is a very punctual man. On the dot of the appointment time he appears out of his office door like a short-sighted cuckoo in a clock that is just chiming the hour. And so it was, that exactly at the appointed hour of 7.00pm this evening, he summoned me into his consulting room.

Good news and bad news followed. The good news is that the right side is looking great with a pink nipple and neat scars. But, bad news, the left nipple is still black. Mr B thinks it will scab, the scabs will drop off and the tissue underneath will be fine, but it will take a long time. "We'll get there" he assured me. I know we will. Me and Mr B.

Most of the dressings are off now and I have to massage cream into the scars twice a day. I had considered buying one of the expensive silicone creams that claim to heal scars and asked Mr B's advice. His view is that a patient is either a 'good scarrer' or a bad one, i.e. your own individual skin may or may not recover well from trauma. If you're a good scarrer you won't have any problem anyway and if you're a bad scarrer the cream can only help a little bit. Luckily I'm a good scarrer - cheap cream for me equals more money to spend on bras!

Massaging numb breasts is weird. From the outside it feels like massaging a football (a small, pert one of course). And from the inside it feels like, well, nothing.


26th April 2018 - Day 15

It was all going so well up until now but today I have a problem. The skin around the scar on the left side is red and sore and there is a lot more swelling on this side making it painful, uncomfortable and completely hard. At my last appointment Mr B told me to take immediate action if there was any sign of an infection so off I went to the hospital again. 

The doctor had a good old look, expressed concern over the black nipple which still looks as though someone dropped it and trod on it, and phoned Mr B for instructions. Upon his direction they took a swab, changed the dressings and sent me away with antibiotics and instructions to take things easy. Damn! I was planning to go back to work tomorrow.


27th April-4th May - Days 16-23

It's been a tough week with visits to the hospital for checks, dressing changes and phone calls from the hospital to poor Mr B. I feel guilty for disturbing his weekend with his family. ("Shall we go out for dinner darling?" "I'm sorry darling, I'm just too busy dealing with Mrs W's left nipple." )

It turns out that I have a seroma, a pocket of clear serous fluid which is made up of blood plasma and inflammatory fluid produced by injured and dying cells. It seems this is common after surgery such as mine and I was made aware of the risk beforehand. I just have to see it through. The worst part was when Mr B gave my breast what he called a gentle squeeze. Owwwwww! But it felt a bit better afterwards and the fluid started flowing abundantly, necessitating several dressing changes a day.

Nurse K dressed the area with a Mepitel dressing to protect the fragile skin underneath and allow it to breathe and an Inadine patch on top of that. This is impregnated with iodine which helps kill bacteria and viruses. The usual waterproof dressing went on top of them. I've learned that wound healing protocol, as I understood it anyway, has changed. No more allowing a wound to be open to the air to harden scabs and dry the area out. Now we should keep it moist (better for cell renewal apparently) and covered to protect against bacteria and to keep it at a constant temperature.


5th-13th May - Days 24-32

My early recovery was so good and so positive, I thought this was going to be a doddle. However things have gone from bad to worse. I've learned not to count my chickens before they've hatched, or perhaps that pride goes before a fall.

The infection has really taken hold and I go backwards and forwards to the hospital about every other day for checks, dressing changes, swabs and am now on my third course of antibiotics. I have long been concerned about the over-use of antibiotics in factory farmed animals and we know that this is part of the cause of antibiotic resistance. As a vegetarian animal lover, my concern has always been for the beasts themselves but maybe I, too, am paying my share of the price of this practice now. Or perhaps it's just because I'm that bit older.

I can't speak highly enough of the large army of health professionals who are helping me through this. Each and every one has been competent and sympathetic. Sadly some of them tell me that they left the NHS to work in the private system because they could no longer stand the conditions caused by repeated government cuts, which not only affected them but their patients too. It's a tragedy that our valuable health service is losing these wonderful, hard-working, caring people.

It's not only physically difficult - I'm becoming more and more emotionally fragile as well. Everyone is being so kind and kindness often reduces me to a querulous, tearful state, unable to choke out the words of gratitude I want to express.

Lovely D is doing what he does best - being strong, supportive and loving. 

And Mr B is calmly steering this ship through troubled waters. 

We'll get there. Me and Mr. B.


16th May - Day 35

It's time to wind this blog up. I wanted to finish it on a positive note with me sailing happily and perkily off into the sunset but it's not to be. 

Things are better though. The latest antibiotics have improved things a lot.The black nipple has done exactly what Mr B said it would do and is now completely pink. However he advises me that the wound that has appeared as a result of the infection, which I got as a result of fat necrosis, will take 3-4 months to heal completely and you don't want to be reading my ramblings for that long. You deserve a medal if you've got this far.

Mr B seems genuinely and sincerely upset about this on my behalf. He understands that it's disappointing for me and I expect it's disappointing for him too because from the stats I have seen, the incidence of fat necrosis after breast reduction surgery is very small. However these things happen and Mr B and his team have looked after me wonderfully all the way through. The result of his surgery on the right side couldn't be more perfect - he created just the size and shape I wanted, the scars are neat, smooth and in some places barely noticeable and I'm just unlucky that the other side got infected. 

I have written honestly and fully about my experience because otherwise there's no point. I haven't changed any of my earlier posts retrospectively. I hope this blog is going to be read by ladies who are considering surgery and that my story is helpful to you. I wish the ending was more positive but please remember that although my story could be yours, it also might not be! It was unfortunate that I got an infection. You probably won't* and I really hope you don't. 

Anyway, if I was to make the decision again, knowing everything I now know and having been through everything I have, I would make the same choice again. I would choose the same surgeon, the same hospital and definitely the same surgery. Even on the darkest of days I haven't regretted it. I take a peek at the right side (oh! that right side!) and my spirits are lifted. It isn't even painful or bad enough to stop me doing anything - teaching Pilates, horse riding, even vacuuming, ironing and cleaning up dog sick. It's just a few weeks of discomfort and inconvenience for a lifetime of relief. The left side might end up a bit more scarred but I will still feel infinitely better than I did before and I'm happy with that.

We're getting there. Me and Mr B.


A few final things:

• Please feel free to ask me any questions you like in the comments section below. I'll help if I can.
• If you do go ahead, don't throw your old bras away. There are charities that would appreciate them and they will go to a good cause. Have a look at www.smallsforall.org but there are others. 
• If you live in the South of England or London and would like the details of my surgeon please let me know. He is not only professional, competent and extremely kind but he certainly knows his way around a breast.
• And yes, I did wake up in time for supper. It was horrid.

* A report by Public Health England published in December 2017 states that "The cumulative SSI (surgical site infection) incidence ranged from 9.2% in large bowel surgery to <1% in hip and knee prosthesis". (Data from April 2010-March 2017).

The American Society for Aesthetic Plastic Surgery quotes in its' Published Review of 1st January 2014 regarding breast reduction surgery "The overall rate of surgical complications was relatively low with 5.1% of patients experiencing a surgical site infection, wound dehiscence, deep wound infection and/or unplanned return to the operating room within 30 days."