It's a trip that I have been waiting to make for a very long time, but haven't had the guts to do it. Today I am swallowing my pride and doing it, regardless of what anxiety I may be feeling. The doctors waiting office is welcoming and the seats are relatively comfortable. But I just can't shake my fears.
"Next" the nurse calls as she opens the waiting room doors. The nurse is a plain woman. Average in every way. Her height is about 5'5, she has a medium build, medium breast size and her personality is about as plain as her looks. She neither smiles nor makes conversation as she takes my weight, height, and blood pressure.
She drops my dressing gown onto the exam table. Advising me to remove everything but panties and to put the gown on backward so it opens in the front. She swiftly shuts the door and the silence is nearly deafening.
I change quickly. The room is extremely cold as I strip out of my sweater and jeans and fold them on a waiting chair, discretely placing my bra between the 2 so it is not sitting out inappropriately.
The examine table is just as cold as the room. My flesh is broken out in goose pimples and the dressing gown is nearly transparent it is so thin. I sit, alone, my ankles crossed and my arms crossed across my front in an attempt to stay warm.
The waiting seems eternal, even though i know it's only a few minutes. When the plastic surgeon enters some of my anxieties are relieved. He is a handsome man, in his younger 40's, who obviously takes care of himself. His head is totally shaved and he has a warm and comforting smile.
"Hello, what can I help you with today?"
He asks, shaking my hand and flipping through my medical chart.
I feel the tears start to well in my eyes. This is my no means easy for me.
"I just wanted to get a bid on how much it would take to fix me."
He stops and looks up at me, seeing me try to blink away the tears, grasping my dressing gown closed and avoiding eye contact.
"Hey now," He coos, coming over and placing a hand on my shoulder. "I am sure it is not as bad as all that. How about you tell me what you don't like about yourself and we take a look?"
The examination table is at a reclining position and I lean back, blinking away the last of my tears (I hope) and try to catch my breath.
"Well, I hate the stretch marks on my breasts. I have tried everything on them and nothing helps. I was wondering how laser surgery would help?"
He quickly parts the gown in the front and my breasts pop out to him. The room is so cold that my nipples look like little pink pencil erasers. Even more embarrassment sets in as he starts to examine my breasts.
"Sorry, it's really cold in here." I stutter, despite the fact that I can feel myself starting to sweat.
He laughs softly.
"It's ok. A natural human response. You're right. The room is pretty cold. That's my fault; I tend to run a little on the warm side."
He is right. His hands are very hot against my skin. I can feel my nipples soften as he cups my breasts, feeling their light weight and checking my skin.
"Have you considered implants at all?"
He inquires softly, still examining me.
"Yes, but I don't like the feeling of them."
He looks up at me with a little bit of surprise apparent on his face.
"Have you had a consultation and felt some of the silicone and saline inserts before?"
"Oh no, I felt them on another woman once. I haven't been able to be with a woman who has them since."
Suddenly, I realize what I just said and feel my eyes grow wide.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I saw on your chart that you were married and I thought I saw a males name in your spouse listing, I must have mis-red."
"No, I am married, I just..." I stumble on, just digging myself in deeper.
He is looking at me with an eyebrow raised. Knowing that there will be no sneaky way to get out of this, at least not with my brains current anxiety riddled state, I bluntly answer,
"I'm bisexual."
"Well, I guess that answers my question! It isn't a big deal either way. I just asked because sometimes adding a small implant can help fill the breast back out and makes the depth of stretch marks less noticeable. With how old the stretch marks are and your skin pigment, I am not sure how effective laser surgery will be."
I can feel the tears start to well up in my eyes again and take a deep breath so a sob doesn't escape me.
He looks up at me again; I can barely see him through the blur of tears.
"Why does it bother you so much?" he asks
"It's just so damned UGLY"
I spat as a tear rolls down my cheek. I quickly wipe it away with the back of my hand and lean my head up for the rest of the tears to drain.
We sit with a moment of silence. I am pulled back into the moment of things when I realize he is still cupping my breasts in his hot hands.
I look down at him and he meets my eyes.
"Are you ok? Do you want to stop the exam?"
I shake my head no and he manipulates my breasts a bit more, dragging his fingers down to feel the depth of the stretch marks and squeezing gently to feel how much firmness I have lost from nursing my children
"Ok, what else are you concerned about?"
"Well, I have more stretch marks on my thighs."
"Ok, let's see."
He opens the lower part of my dressing gown and I part my legs for him, realizing that I am really wearing too small of panties for such an exam. I really was not thinking. They are by no means pretty, just a simple cotton thong, but the fabric is barely covering me up and I am scared that part of my labia may be peeking out.
