Not what you’re thinking. I have reduced: my calorie count and sugar/starch/grain consumption; body weight by 115 pounds; and body fat by an estimated 45%. Now with 50 pounds left, there is one (actually 2) things on mind, rather on my chest.
During a mammogram yesterday, as my boobs in all their pendulous glory lay squished one at a time under the compressor paddle getting irradiated, once again I pondered breast lift & reduction surgery. Why? I don’t consider myself a vain person. (Who does?) Facial plastic surgery and body sculpting are not on the list. But honestly, my chest looks like I’ve had 12 kids. The best under-wire bra money can buy only puts my boobs so close to anatomically correct position. My neck is killing me – so much I was concerned that a 16-year old cervical spine fusion had finally failed. The MRI thankfully only showed arthritis, and my physical terrorist is having a difficult time getting the right side of my neck muscles to unspasm. (“Ah-ha, a paper trail!” said the mammogram technician. “Maybe you can qualify medically for a breast reduction.”) Who wants surgery? Sure boobs above my waist (slight exaggeration) would be delightful. Being able to walk/jog without the slapping of breast tissue on chest, no longer being embarrassed, no more neck pain – all very tempting.
Fifty pounds to think about it. I don’t like surgeons. Hey, I’m a doctor, why should I?