I think I suffered boob confusion. My mother was pretty flat chested and diet-obsessed. The two grandmother- figures in my life both had large, squishy bosoms and thought my mother silly and vain. All 3 parties were judgmental of each other. I loved to look at the women in Playboy and dreamt of having breasts of my own. Then they arrived. They were perfect when I was 12. The problem was they just kept on coming! I took dancing and skating lessons from the age of 6 and loved to perform but I would say these bosoms really ended my desire to perform. They were in my way and became a distraction, at least in my mind. By 16 I viewed them as unacceptable for viewing. I stopped all but choral and instrumental performance. I don’t remember how I heard about or when I decided to have breast reduction surgery, but I do remember making the appointment with the plastic surgeon on my 21st birthday. My father went with me, asking me if he could accompany me to the meeting with the doctor because he didn’t really know how else to decide if this was necessary or frivolous. I was fine with this, and, with the doctor in the room, I bared my chest to both men. My father made eye contact with me and excused himself. Later, in the car, he apologized and said I had obviously inherited the heavy breast physique of his side of the family. Imagine that someone apologizes for the genes that make you how you are. The doctor was kind and lovely. He and his nurse were from Oklahoma and had such comforting drawls. He had specialized in plastic surgery after time in Vietnam and really wasn’t into vanity surgery. His specialty in my town was sewing limbs back on after mill accidents. I think I was very clear that I would die a spinster because of my breast loathing. He viewed my situation as he would someone with a defective physical characteristic. He took me on believing it would change my life. He was very clear with the risks associated with the surgery: loss of sensitivity, possibility of not being able to nurse, and they “might lose the nipple”. Only the loss of the nipple bothered me and I naively begged him to pick it up off the floor if he accidentally dropped it! Even before the shunts and bandages were removed post-op I knew I had made the right decision. The new me was fantastic. I became the poster child for breast plastic surgery. I referred at least 10 women to that doctor, most for reduction but a couple for augmentation. I was the boob-empowerment queen of my county. I think it made me confident and powerful to change my body to my liking. I’m still happy with my breasts–they are sensitive, they successfully nursed my 2 daughters, and the nipples are perky and present. It was worth the risk for me. The human body is an amazing thing. Hopefully everyone comes to love and accept their bodies with age. If that acceptance requires surgical intervention, I believe it is worth it.