I opened my eyes and looked at my alarm clock. It was 4am and I was in agony. I could feel that my sheets were damp so I reached over and switched on my lamp. As soon as my eyes adjusted to the light I screamed.
oy sheets were wet from blood that had leaked from my breasts!
It was almost two weeks since I had gone through a breast-reduction operation but my wounds didn’t seem to be healing. I could also smell something horrible, like meat when it’s been left out in the sun. It was a huge shock to realise the smell was coming from my breasts – they were rotting away.
I never really knew the size of my breasts before the operation. They were about a 20GG. My breasts were so low they flopped down to my tummy and my life was ruled by their mammoth size. Every time I went out people stared and I hated it. They called me names and I’d even had men come up and grab at my breasts.
Eventually I stopped going out socially. I went to work and came home and that was my existence. I was big for most of my adult life, and the extra weight from my huge breasts didn’t affect me too much. Then I went on a diet and lost 30kg, although my breasts stayed large, and that’s when I began to feel weighed down by them.
A few months after my weight loss I came into a little bit of money and decided to get a breast reduction. I really thought it would change my life for the better. I was so nervous when I went to see the doctor who would do the operation.
“What size do you want to go down to?” he asked me. I was still fairly big and I wanted to look in proportion so I suggested a D cup.
“I can probably get you down to a C if you want,” he replied. I was so happy with the consultation I booked the $9000 operation that day. The doctor started to tell me about the procedure but I said that I would rather not know because it was too gory.
The night before the operation was full of mixed emotions for me. Thoughts were whizzing around my mind. What if it went wrong? What if my recovery took longer than the time I had booked off work? I had never had any sort of surgery before and I didn’t know what to expect.
The next day I sat nervously on the edge of my hospital bed waiting for the doctor. After I slipped into my gown he arrived with two marker pens and a plastic milk-bottle top. “It’s to mark your nipples with,” he said, noticing the confused look on my face.
Hours later I woke up, shivering and groggy, and was quite sick at first. The next day my dressings were changed and I got a peek at my new breasts for the first time. “Something has gone wrong,” I gasped. “I’m completely flat-chested!”
oy nipples were black and I looked like I had been attacked with a machete.
“Don’t worry, that’s perfectly normal,” the doctor told me.
I was discharged but went back for daily check-ups. By the third day after the operation, there were big red patches on my breasts. They were so sore and felt like they were burning. I thought something must be wrong but once again the doctor reassured me that it was normal.
A week later, I was in agony and that night I woke up in the pool of blood. Deep down, I knew things were not right but I had used all my savings I couldn’t afford to go somewhere else. I trusted my doctor. After all, he was an expert. What did I know?
It got to the point where I was using sanitary pads instead of bandages because they soaked up more of the horrible stuff coming out of my wounds. The pain of the infection continued to get worse. Finally, my mum convinced me to see my GP. He was shocked and told me I got there in the nick of time. I was in a bad way.
I was sent to another surgeon, who specialises in reconstructive surgery. He told me he had never seen anyone in such a state after a breast reduction. over the last two years I have had five corrective operations but my breasts are still a mess.
I decided to take the surgeon to a disciplinary tribunal for professional misconduct. The tribunal heard that at no time did he recommend to me that a different procedure be performed, or that I should lose weight before the operation. He never talked about tissue loss or said there were increased risks because of my size and because I smoke. At the hearing, I tried not to look at him. He never looked at me. He tried to blame the infection on a mosquito bite – but the bite was on my leg, not my breast. When they found all the allegations, except for two, were established, it was a huge relief. But my pain continues.
I feel self-conscious about how misshapen and scarred my breasts are now. I will never be able to breast-feed a baby. My nipples completely rotted off. Soon I will get tattoos that look like nipples.
I also suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder and have depression from the whole ordeal. The surgeon has never said sorry to me, not once. But I guess the main thing is that by taking action and talking about what happened to me, I can stop it happening to someone else.
Related stories
Native ad body.
Native ad body.
Native ad body.
