It's not just about the bra straps and the back pain.

I'm still not working. I'm still stuck at home banging my little head against a wall out of boredom.

By banging my head against a wall I, sadly, mean watching reruns of America's Next Top model and meandering around my home doing random chores. Today I'm reorganizing my pantry.

I think I'm doing relatively well. My left breast is just dandy, healed up, no longer swollen, and from what I can tell right now it won't be scarring too badly. The right one, however, is a different story. Where two of my incisions met, I ended up with a hole. Hole! It's about the size of my little fingernail, and I don't have small fingers. You can see my (interior) stitches... no bueno. It's gross and I don't like looking at it, so of course I can't stop. I was the kid that would salt slugs and stand and watch them. I need therapy.

Soooooo I went to my Dr. and all he did was give me some Silver Sulfadiazine to slather on the (still open!) wound and told me to cover it with gauze. Thanks. Since the wound was infected he couldn't sew me up, much to my chagrin. My right breast is still swollen, the sulfadiazine burns, and I still hurt all the way into my upper arm on that side. Not cool. I feel much better though.

Before my surgery I was having a really hard time. I've had large breasts as long as I've had breasts, I went from my training bra to a 34C when I was 10. I've never owned an A or B cup bra. It was a strange transition. As I got older, they just kept getting bigger. I was up to a 34G, which is a 34DDDD. Absurd. Painful. Cartoon-ish. A year and a half ago I lost over 30 pounds in 3 months, and they didn't budge. I was up to nearly 160 lbs, and even after I was down to 127, they were still a G. I was so proud of my weight loss, but because of my breasts I still had to wear larger clothes than what the rest of my body needed. It was frustrating and depressing.

Aside from the physical detriment of having such a large chest, which I've talked about before, they were psychologically harmful. I cried nearly every time I got dressed in the morning. I would try on 4 or five tops, then just sit on my bed and cry. I felt fat, ugly, and trapped because of them. Men would stare at them, women too. I hated going to the beach because they looked ridiculous in a bathing suit. I hadn't worn a crew neck shirt in years...but I digress.

I'm so much happier. I can just put on any shirt that I want. I can finally wear a size 2-4 dress instead of buying a 2-8 and having it tailored. It's refreshing, and no matter what I'm dealing with right now, while I'm healing, I'm glad I made the decision and took control over something that was hurting me in so many ways.