The Birth of Nork & Nindy ...nanu nanu new boobs!

So it seems that whilst I've been away and under immense amounts of anaesthetic and living through 6 days of drooling, moaning, peeing in a bed pan...well trying to ( ashamedly I didn't always hit target !) and recovery...my boobs have well and truly been hijacked !

Therefore I am as of now, re-claiming my blog (well for the time being ) just to inform, update or entertain any lovely ladies out there still interested in my (not Nork & Nindy's) side of  'Boob Job Blog' part 3!

So waking up early on Monday 9th Jan, I felt pretty sick really and I mean proper sick, that nauseous, stomach churning involuntary need to stick a toothbrush down my throat kind of sick ! You may be thinking that my nausea had something to do with the anticipation, excitement and nervousness at the impending long awaited 'Boob Reduction'? But no, in fact I hadn't really and truly given it much thought , you see the source of all this sickness was the thought of all the work and preparation I had to do before even being able to physically leave the house to go into hospital !


As a mum and wife and ok I'll admit it (an OCD control freak who loves playing the martyr)  I had the single biggest preparation list inside my head, which under no circumstances would not be completed and ticked off before I allowed myself to leave the house.  I had a very desperate addiction to organise, clean the house, change beds, wash, cook vast amounts of homemade soup?, iron every item in the basket (including the cat's blanket, she's very fussy and despises creases) and generally prepare for the 'nuclear winter' that would undoubtedly occur whilst I'm not there! I'm assuming that this is all normal behaviour? although it's only ever happened twice before in my life and that was when I was pregnant....and in that case it was given a pucker medical term called 'nesting'! Well you can't have pregnant ladies thinking they're going slightly bonkers now can you? So I'm assuming my pre-op behaviour is also normal....so I'm calling it 'breasting' .....after all I shall be giving new life to my Norks!  Besides I was seriously concerned about when any of the domestic chores would ever be done again, (well to my exacting standards anyway) given the estimated recovery period for my surgery is 6-8 weeks !

So there I am running a precision military operation consisting of chores, school runs, a last minute dog walk, and and even a quick nip to Asda, in the tank, for standard issue hospital slippers. Eventually at 8pm I am admitted into hospital, dog rough, knackered and with 'that' headache, you know  the one you get from consuming only chocolate and caffeine for the last 24 hours ! But hey I'm smug, I am vainglorious (just because I now know what that word means!) I have completed my list and am safe in the knowledge that my family won't collapse, die of hunger or need to wear yesterdays undies (apart from Mr PB that is, same pair for 2 days, just his personal preference!) because I'm not there!

To my delight, on admission I'm given a private room which comes with an impressive en-suite ! It's actually plusher than some hotels I've had the pleasure of staying in and the wide grin on my face doesn't go un-noticed by the nurse. 'I can't guarantee they won't move you to a ward later ' she says ' bursting my bubble immediately! At this precise moment, Little Miss H and I are checking out the bed, bouncing up and down and squishing the pillows. Looking over to her I say 'well as long as they don't move me whilst I'm sleeping (I don't wanna wake up disorientated somewhere new) then I don't really mind'!  Little Miss H giggles and then announces that the pillows are pants and that I should have just brought my Hungarian Goose Feather one from home! But you know what, that beauty cost me £55 and after all this is Liverpool,  and there is every probability that it will get 'robbed' from under my athethetised head! Fortunately for us, Little Miss H doesn't understand the necessary health and safety caution procedures of being in Liverpool well after all we've only let her go there 3 times since she was born!

Soon it's time for MrPB, Miss C and Little Miss H to love me and leave me. Miss C is clearly bored and can't wait to get back to her social networking, MrPB is tired and just wants to chill at home and Little Miss H is now welling up. She has sad eyes and just wants to stay with her ma, and so after much kissing, cuddling and hugging,....and kissing and hugging.....MrPB eventually has to resort to forcibly removing her from my body, peeling her away limb by limb; and then they leave.

However for all the drama of the day and having said my goodbyes. Once I'm alone in my room the realisation soon begins to sink in. Oh god, I am actually having this done! I take some time to look at my pendulous bangers and start to try to visualise how they will be transformed and into what cup size they will change? Now whilst I'm dreamily imagining how I'll look with perfect breasts (and this image also somehow includes longer legs and a washboard stomach?) panic suddenly strikes as I have yet to decided on a size. I've been told that my consultant won't be seeing me until the morning and also that apparently I'm first on the list to go to theatre ! Ok, so when exactly will the vital discussion on size,volume,shape and nipple pertness happen between patient and consultant? Immediately terror, fear, confusion (and the odd rude word) starts to overwhelm me and I ring MrPB in a total state. Poor MrPB, he's only just arrived home and put his feet up and doesn't need me gibbering and talking hysterical nonsense about refusing to go to theatre if I haven't seen my consultant in time. I'm scared, after all this is the NHS, can I trust them? What if my consultant is delayed and can't see me? What if they just get some hospital porter to put on a white coat , cover me in marker pen then knock me out ?! 'NO, I WILL REFUSE TO BUDGE FROM THIS BED UNLESS I AM SATISFIED THEY KNOW WHAT SIZE AND SHAPE TO MAKE - THESE ARE MY BOOBS !!!' It's fair to say, that at this point MrPB did an excellent job of calming me down and reminding me I hadn't yet signed the consent letter and only when I was happy would I sign and no of course they wouldn't get the size wrong and no he didn't think he would need to pop out to buy chicken fillets to fill my bras cause said hospital porter had left me with a AA cup!

This will be me...but with slightly smaller eyes !

Much to my relief my Consultant arrives to see me the next morning and with only 20 minutes to go before boobie 're-birth' begins, he gets to work. He starts to measure and mark and asks all the right questions in order to get the information needed to go forth and create breasts of the most splendiferous kind ! I stand naked (apart from my Bridget Jones knickers) whilst he draws with thick black marker pen all over my boobs. He methodically marks areas of mammary that will no doubt disappear, areas that require significant 'uplift' and shows me where my new nipples will be! I feel like I'm on an episode of Nip Tuck but there's NO Los Angeles glamour here, although I did shave my armpits the night before!  I feel exposed but at the same time his confident use of the pen and single mindedness whilst working, calms me and fill me with assurance. I wonder if he sees this 'marking task' as a 'pert' of his job?!

Looking back on it now, as I'm waiting for the anaesthetic to kick in, my pre-op meltdown was nothing short of farcical but knowing myself the way I do it was doubtlessly unavoidable! Starting to feel sleepy as the anaesthetic flows into my body I feel pleasantly inebriated and decide to have a quick 40 winks ;)

........Concludes next post with the big reveal !