Image: Gala Darling. 

Trigger warning: This article contains many references to body image, weight and body modification, as well as (censored) images of my boobies. If this makes you uncomfortable or brings up negative emotions for you, please don’t torture yourself by reading any further! doki-doki!

I got myself an early Christmas present this year: breast augmentation. I went from a 32B to a 32D (maybe a 32DD once they drop) in the span of an hour, and I can say without a shadow of a doubt that it is some of the best money I’ve ever spent. I am absolutely delighted with the results.

This has been a big year for me. I got a divorce. I got a book deal. I was single, I dated, I got into a relationship. I’ve been actively reclaiming myself, my life, my body, and my sexuality. It has been miraculous, challenging and overwhelming. It has also been the best year of my life.

Since overcoming my eating disorder ten years ago, my love and appreciation for my body has only grown. I am not ashamed or embarrassed to say that I think my body is beautiful. I don’t just write about radical self love, I live it. I take good care of myself: I eat nutritious food (with joy and no sense of deprivation), I exercise, I barely drink, I don’t smoke. 95 per cent of the time, I feel awesome when I leave the house, and I’m totally comfortable in my skin. I never hated my B cups, and in fact, I never really thought about their size until this summer.

The tipping point was when I decided to stop eating sugar. I was truly addicted to it, and would eat at least one chocolate bar a day. I had read with horror the research that says eating sugar slows collagen production, which means you lose elasticity in your skin and you’ll see the effects of aging faster. My relationship with sugar was deep and psychologically complex: I noticed that when I felt unhappy, I’d go for something sweet, and it would make me feel good for about 20 seconds before I was right back where I started.

Quitting sugar made me realise how much I used sugar to stop me from feeling things I didn’t want to feel. Without sugar as a crutch, I was forced to actually feel my feelings, which has been a major growth experience for me. In addition to having more energy, feeling happier and less moody, I lost about ten pounds over the course of a few months. As someone with low body fat anyway — it wavers around 11 per cent — a whole lot of it came out of my boobs, which didn’t have much to give in the first place!

Watch: Studio 10 demonstrates how to check your breasts for lumps. (Post continues after video.)

I wasn’t embarrassed about how I looked, but I thought I could look better. I have broad shoulders and I thought a bump up in the boob department might make me look more well-proportioned. Unlike everything else on my body that I have been able to improve via good eating and working out, breasts are — unfortunately — the only thing you can’t enlarge through diet or exercise.

So, this summer I started thinking about getting a boob job. I did a bunch of research on RealSelf — which is like Yelp for cosmetic surgery — and fairly impulsively, made an appointment to see a surgeon for a consultation.

My surgeon was unbelievably nice and the consultation blew me away. I stood in front of a machine where six cameras took simultaneous photos of my chest and torso, and then, on a screen, my doctor showed me what I’d look like with different sized and shaped implants. It was incredible and the results looked really realistic. I was so impressed! It was shocking but wonderful to see what implants would look like on my frame, because even though I’d thought about it a lot, it was very hard for me to visualise what it would actually look like. The consultation removed all doubt.

You can’t go into a surgeon and say “I’d like to be a D cup”, but you can make an approximation. Implants are based on cubic centimetres, and every 150cc will bump you up about one cup size. I took some boobspiration photos with me (!!!), and based on those, my surgeon showed me a bunch of options.

That’s how I looked at the time on the left, as compared with a 320cc round implant, viewed from the front. I thought it looked amazing, but I couldn’t really tell how much bigger it would look in, say, clothing.

When I first saw this, my eyes almost burst out of my head! This looks SO much bigger. This is the same size implant as the one above — 320cc — but viewed from the side it looks much larger, and gives you more context.

This is a 370cc implant, but this time, it’s a teardrop shape. Clearly it’s bigger than the 320cc, but even though the shape of the teardrop versus the round is subtle, the fullness in the bottom of the teardrop implant sticks out from my torso way too much.

Hooooooooooly shit! Again, the front view alone does NOT give you the full story! Here’s another view of the 370cc implant, except this time, you’re getting my view of me looking straight down at them.

This is a 380cc round implant. It’s the same shape as the first image, just bigger. I loved how these looked on my frame, and thought it was pretty much perfect.

These are the only photos I took from the consult, but we went through lots of different options. We discussed the pros and cons of saline vs silicone, as well as low, medium and high profile (essentially how much the implant “sticks out” at the top of the breast). Even though teardrop implants can look more natural, since they’re fuller at the bottom, they didn’t work on my frame. My doctor told me that I’d be constantly hitting them with my arm and it would drive me crazy. He also told me that the most common complaint he got from patients afterwards was that they wished they’d gone bigger.

With all of this in mind, I walked 50 blocks to brunch with three of my best friends, thinking intently the whole way. By the time I had reached Cafe Mogador, I had basically made up my mind that I was going to get it done. A few weeks later, I spoke to one of my astrologer friends about a good date for surgery (haha!), then called the office and booked in for November the 17th. Auspiciously, that date also happened to be RuPaul’s birthday. I thought this was an excellent sign!

The Surgery.

My surgery was booked for 8am on a Tuesday. I woke up early that morning, and used an antibacterial cleanser all over my body. I was even instructed to use it to clean out my belly-button with a Q-tip. I wasn’t allowed to wear deodorant, moisturiser, or any make-up. I had been told to wear something that buttoned in the front, so I headed uptown in a car in a green flannel shirt that I’d steamed the wrinkles out of the night before (hello, Virgo), black sweatpants and my blanket coat.

I was amazed to find that I wasn’t nervous or anxious at all about getting the procedure. I showed up to the surgeon’s office early, signed some forms, changed into a paper gown and a robe and sat on an examination chair, messaging my friends on my phone. As the clock edged ever closer to my surgery time, I felt little flutters of nerves — I remember letting out about 3 big deep breaths — but beyond that, the abject fear I was anticipating never surfaced.

My surgeon appeared and we made light conversation while he marked up my breasts. Soon, my nurse came in and invited me into the neighbouring room. It was chilly. Dr Shafer asked me, “What kind of music do you like?”, and when I said, “Hip-hop,” Usher’s Yeah! quickly filled the room!

I climbed onto the table and lay down. My nurse pointed a little heater at me underneath the blanket and covered me up. My anesthesiologist asked what I did for a living, and then we discussed his daughter’s Masters in Poetry and how writers have to hustle if they want to make it work.

He told me he was going to give me some Propofol, inserted the IV which hurt for about half a millisecond, and then said, “Soon you’re going to feel a warm sensation up your arm. Now, just so you know, you might have vivid dreams. Maybe you’ll dream about your next book!” I laughed and said, “That’s an awesome intention to set.”

The next thing I remember was my anesthesiologist saying, “Hello. Move over here onto this bed.” I wriggled onto the bed beside me with the help of the nurse and I suppose they wheeled me into the next room, but I don’t recall that. I opened my eyes at some point and my nurse offered me water and Saltines, and told me to rest for an hour. I kind of wanted to sleep but I wasn’t really tired, and I didn’t feel groggy at all (Propofol is the truth!), so I asked for my phone and started texting people.

Mia Freedman discusses how she found the right bra. (Post continues after video.) 

My nurse asked me where I was at on a pain scale of 1-10, and I said 3.5. She asked if I wanted to take the OxyContin or if I just wanted Tylenol Extra Strength, and I opted for the Tylenol. I wasn’t in much pain at all. Mostly, my chest felt tight and a little achy, but nothing terribly dramatic.

After an hour of observation, my boyfriend arrived to take me home. He made me soup and then fed it to me, which made me laugh so hard. After about an hour, I decided to take some OxyContin. I didn’t really want it — and I didn’t want to be all loopy or out of it — but my nurse had stressed the importance of taking it before I felt pain, and that ache was starting to come back.

We split the pill in half and I took it, and then an hour later I took the rest. It didn’t make me feel nuts at all, it just alleviated the pain and made me feel a bit sleepy, which was a relief.

I had moved my projector into the bedroom the night before so I was ready for epic laziness! My boyfriend lifted me into position in bed because I couldn’t really use my arms to maneuver around. They say you’ll need someone to look after you for 24 hours after your surgery, and it’s true. Your movement is pretty limited. We watched Bill Burr stand-up, then Iris, then I Love You, Man, and fell asleep around 11.30pm.

Aftercare and recovery.

The day after my surgery I to