Post Film Festival, the beginning of this week brought us directly into more Doctor’s appointments. More specifically, my first “expander fill”. As my chest has been healing, it feels like there is a “foreign body” mounted to it. These “bodies” are the expanders, basically deflated bags that will be pumped up over time.

Breast-wise, the sutures have healed and the skin has been pulled taut. The “nips were clipped” with the surgery, and my boobs are now smooth. Frankly, I look a bit like a “Skipper” doll. ( Full disclosure: I had the option of sparing the left one, but when you’re getting a new chassis, you might as well go whole hog, if only for symmetry’s sake.)

So Monday afternoon, Collin and I climbed into the car to take yet another voyage to UCLA. When I entered Dr. D’s office, it turned into a bit of a “scene”. Right after I checked in, an older man who had been sitting in one of the chairs approached the desk and began scolding the receptionist on how “ he had been waiting too long” and how “if they couldn’t tell him how long it would take then he was going somewhere else” and on and on and on…. I get waiting for a doctor can be annoying. My mom’s specialist was often more than an hour late for appointments because, when he was with you, he took the time to answer your questions. He was actually giving CARE, and good CARE is always worth the wait. Dr. D. is like that too, you don’t feel like he is rushing you out of his office and takes the time to answer your questions.

Besides, if your in to see a plastic surgeon, chances are he or she is doing something cosmetic. And why the hell so you want to be a jerk to someone who is cutting up your body to make you look “better”? It’s like being a dick to your waiter.

You want to east spit?

JUST . DON’T.

The nurse called us in and took us to the exam room.

“You’re here for a fill?” She asked.

“Yup, My first one!” I say, feeling like a girl getting her first bra.

“Do you want numbing cream?” she asks, setting the needle up for the doctor.

“Yes” I say, because I still have NO idea how the hell the saline is gonna get in there.

Fortunately Collin has been wondering the same thing.

“So how do you find the valve or whatever to fill the things?”

“There’s a magnet” the nurse explains as she puts a yellow contraption over my tit like she’s dowsing for water.

And sure enough, as the magnet aligns with the valve inside, it straightens out and she places a dot of anesthetic in the spot, places a gauze over it and tells us the doctor will be in shortly.

Collin and I looked at one another, like “Holy Shit, science is cool!”

Dr. D. walks in. He seems a bit frazzled.

“How are you ?” I ask.

He paused for a second. “The thing about being a doctor is you can’t choose your patients…”

“Oh, I think we met him, “ Collin interrupts, as I nodded in agreement.

He laughs. Not easy to get a laugh out of Dr. D.

“Yes. Doctors can’t pick their patients, and not everyone is like you…” he says, explaining the semi freak show that can be the Plastic Surgery in Los Angeles.

Yeah. LA is a special place. Collin and I witnessed that when there was a woman with a dog in the PRE-op room.

Dr D. Moved over with the syringe, and artfully pierced the skin right where the anesthetic had been. Using both hands (BOTH HANDS!) he pushes till all the saline had emptied into my “new” right boob.

Cool. Not a problem.

Moving to the left side, I yelped a bit as the needle penetrated through the chest muscle. Again, he pushed the syringe until all the saline had been deposited.

I could feel a slight movement of the saline entering under my chest muscle, but it wasn’t terribly uncomfortable.

Then it was over.

“That’s it ?”

“Yes”, he said “Until I see you next week”.

Looking in the mirror as I refastened my bra, I searched for the increase in size. It was hardly recognizable. It seems my chest must be stretching. So only about 5 more of these sessions, then maybe I’ll see some difference.

Not nearly as bad as I anticipated. Fingers crossed that’s the new reality.