continued from............ too. After 10 years together, I kicked
him out.
Then I got myself sterilised so I could finally get an NHS breast op.
There'd be no more children, no chance of further sagging.
When I was referred to the waiting list, I felt on such a high. I bought armfuls of lacy 34B bras.
Because I didn't want huge boobs, just normal, sexy ones that
didn't sag. For the first time in years I felt happy.
So happy, that seven months later, Alan and I got back together. he'd never fallen out of love with me. I'd just let my obsession
come between us.
He fully supported my surgery. 'It'll be worth it, to see you smile,
' he said.
But then, a year after referring me, my doctor broke some devastating
news. 'Your name's been taken off the list,' he said.
'Due to insufficient funding.'
'They can't!' I screamed, tears streaming. My extreme reaction shocked even my doctor....
'Which is when I was referred to you,' I now told my psychiatrist.
The psychiatrist looked at me. 'Your breasts aren't to blame for all
your problems,' she said.
That afternoon, I realised she was right. Yet I also knew the only
way I'd ever get over my self-loathing and be happy was to have breast
surgery. But I worked in a launderette and knew I could never save enough for a
private operation.
So I prayed for a windfall as I rubbed away at the scratchcards. But
five miserable years dragged by with no luck. Until one day, Alan
won £1,500 at bingo.
'Take it,' he said. 'Go on, get your boobs done.' We'd been together 18 years now and he'd still never seen me without a top.
I looked at him, my heart leaping with excitement. 'Thank you so much
,' I said, Mum offered to pay the rest.
That afternoon, I rang a
company who organised budget surgery abroad.
I'd seen their ad in a magazine.
A week later, I was in a consulting room. Alan gripping my shaking hand.
'Right' the surgeon smiled. 'Let's take a look.' Panic pounded inside. I hadn't realised I'd need to take my clothes off. 'It's OK,' Alan mouthed. But sweat trickled as I turned my back on
him, pulled off my top. 'And your bra as well,' the consultant said gently.
Tears welling, I unhooked my bra, 'chicken fillet' pads spilling, and
stood bare-chested in front of the consultant - the first man to see my
breasts in 24 years.
'I'm sure I can help,' he said, after taking a Polaroid picture. Dressing quickly, I sat blushing beside Alan, as I was told how silicon
would be inserted through incisions under my nipples.
'We've a clinic in Tunisia that can operate soon,' the consultant said. And there I was, a week later barely able to believe I was about to say
goodbye to my hideous boobs forever.
Altogether, my operation, hotel and flights came to £2,600.
But when I woke after my op two days on, to see two 34D spheres bulging
under the sheets, I swept with delight.
I rang Alan. 'I can't wait for you to see them, 'I giggled.
Five days later, I arrived home. He and mum were waiting. This was the first time ever I'd shown myself to Alan. But strangely, I wasn't nervous. I was just so proud of my new shape. 'Ready?' I said. Then boldly, I yanked up my T-shirt. 'Ta-da!' Alan's eyes bulged. 'Blimey,' he managed to splutter.
I wasn't sure if he was shocked by my boobs, or the fact I was actually
showing them. I could barely believe it myself.
Three months on, I'm still on a high. I adore my new breasts. But best of all, I can be the women I want to be with Alan. For years,
I kept myself covered up and we had sex in the dark.
I think we both deserve a bit of fun now - don't you?
Christine Steed, 44, from Plymouth, Devon.
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