Wednesday, June 25, 2008


All right. Since I need a subject to keep this blog up (only my dark and futile thoughts aren't enough, I know) and I want to work on a new portfolio I will start posting a weekly comic strip about the whole process of getting a boob job and the funny consequences of it.

While don't have anymore news I'll just leave the new pictures of my dog Annabel Lee that was taken with a new mobile phone. I just wanted to test the camera, but the pictures looked so cute that I can't waste them.

Here you go:

Friday, June 20, 2008

My First Plastic Surgery

I have been thinking about improving my natural qualities almost a year now. When I simply dared to mention my intentions to friends and family they all said the same thing: you’re good the way you are, not risk it.

It’s easy for someone else to say nice things about you. They don’t wake up everyday and battle to have a bra to fit nicely. They can’t possibly imagine how much it disturbs to look in the mirror and not like what you see. You may look good for them, but if you don’t look good enough to satisfy your own eyes, what’s the point? You’re never going to be happy the way you are then just change it.

I stopped to think about all the decisions I’ve made without anybody’s approval. If I want to I will do it and to hell with what everybody think.

So, two months ago I started visiting plastic surgeons until I found the one I felt like I could trust with the final result and with my health during the procedure. He was the only one who told me to visit a cardiologist. The others merely said an electrocardiogram exam would be enough.

He was also worried with my size. Since I’m small and my ribcage is tiny he wouldn’t implant more than 280ml or else I’d never put my arms forward again (I had a good laugh imagining that).

So I had to correct a small symmetric problem I had. In the right breast I had to put 280ml while in the left it was 260ml. The incision was going to be from below the breast; and the implant would be placed between the glandule and the muscle.

Perfect, the theory was ready and so I started with the practical part. I went straight to my gynecologist for a full checkup and then to the cardiologist. The doctor was very surprised how healthy I am. My cholesterol is very low and my coagulation is 100%. There wasn’t even a cyst in my mammography (and I have lots of cysts). Basically, I was perfect.

Two weeks later I returned with all the exam results in hands. The plastic surgeon only said that it would be better if I got a general anesthesia for my comfort. He explained that today the risk of a general anesthesia is minimum; actually, it’s the safest there is.

The price was a bit high, but I had to choose a good hospital with an ICU in case the worse happened. I had to pay only for the implants first, but everything else would be paid after the surgery.

May 21st I woke up at 5am and drove myself to the hospital. I was very excited, but my mom by my side was nervous like never before. My room had Plasma TV and DVD!

The doctor came in at 7 o’clock to draw some marks on me. He showed me where he would cut and also marked the middle of my chest so both implants would be aligned.

I looked at myself for the last time in the mirror and said bye bye to small breasts!

The anesthetist arrived and I immediately liked him. He was very funny. I lay down in the stretcher and he started with a light sedative. I don’t remember anything else from there, but my mom said…

“How are you feeling, Vivi?”

“Like I drank two glasses of Vodka…”

“Okay… what about now?”

“Like… I drank…four glasses of Voooodka.”

“That’s perfect! Let’s go.”

And later the doctor’s assistant told me I arrived at the surgery room all happy and talkative.

“Are you excited?” She asked me.

“Wow… man… what a daaaze. I want anesthesia foreeeeeeeeeeever.”

Of course I don’t remember any of that. I felt like I just blinked in my room and opened my eyes in the recovery room with this scene:

“OMG they’re huge!!”

The anesthetist appeared and asked me how I was feeling. I was great. He was surprised that I wasn’t even disoriented or sleepy when I woke up.

The nurses took me back to my room where my mom, my dad and my sister were waiting. As soon as I saw them I squealed,

“Yay! Big boobies, dad!! I’m never going to see my Netherlands again.” I think I never saw the old man laugh so hard before.

Happiness can’t even start describing how I was feeling. Finally I had done what I wanted for so many years!

I have to say I first thought after ‘yay boobies’ was ‘can I eat now?’. My stomach was empty for nearly twenty hours at that moment and as soon as I sat on the bed I asked for food. The nurse stared at me very surprised.

“Aren’t you feeling nauseous?”

“Nope, I’m famished, actually.”

“All right. First you drink two glasses of water and in twenty minutes if you don’t feel nauseous I’ll bring you lunch.”

I drank the water and it only worsened my hunger. My dad left for work and my sister went back to college. I was left there with my mom once again.

I only noticed a slight discomfort when I stood up the first time to go to the bathroom. It hurt to stand up straight. I was surprised when I saw myself in the mirror. I was really fat!!!!

“What happened? I was so thin when I arrived here! Do I have to go for a liposuction now?”

“No, you’re like that because the medication. In two or three days you’ll be just like you were.” The nurse answered and I was a bit relieved. I made a mental note to avoid the mirrors for three days.

Then I had lunch, but it was just a small amount of soup and I wasn’t learly satisfied. So I asked my mom to sneak out and find me something very good to eat. She returned with brigadeiros, orange cake, M&M’s and a bottle of coke. Wow, I love you, mom.

Believe it or not I ate everything. I have no idea what had gotten in me. When I was satisfied my friends and family started calling me on my cellphone.

I watched a film on dvd and decided that I couldn’t stay in the hospital anymore. That horrible bed was betting me a backache and there was nothing on TV.

It was 5pm when the hospital’s doctor (not my surgeon) arrived to check on me. I was already dressed and ready to go. I just wanted them to get the IV from my arm (because they were bugging me more than the surgery itself).

He saw me standing there pacing and just stopped.

“Are you sure you’re the patient?”

“Yeah, can you get this needle off my arm?”

“My my, what a rebel patient. You’re not feeling dizzy or in pain?”

“Nope. I’m great.”

“Did you go to the bathroom since you woke up?”

“Three times. I drank a whole bottle of coke.”


“Yeah, why? I shouldn’t have…?”

“No… that’s not… I’m surprised, that’s all. Nobody feels good enough to eat let alone drink coke.”

“Actually, I’m hungry again. Can I go home anytime soon?” I asked while he checked my blood pressure and heart rate.

“Usually it’s the procedement to stay in the hospital for 24 hours when you get a general anesthesia, but since you’re that good I’m going to call your doctor so you can be checked out.”

Indeed I returned home the same day.

It was nightmare trying to get some sleep. I took a Vicodin (or a version of it that they sell here in Brazil) and had to sleep almost in a sitting position. I couldn’t turn around no matter what. My poor back was ruined.

The next day I didn’t even have to take painkillers. I got my dog, my blanket and a bunch of movies and sat in the TV room all day long. It was awesome because I called and there was always someone around to give me what I wanted.

The first bath was freak show. When I took the bra off I almost knocked myself. They simply popped out twice the size I thought they were going to be.

I took a shower, but with the drain tubes and the bandages I could barely feel clean. My mom had to help me because I couldn’t raise my arms very much and couldn’t scrub my back.

The disgusting part was over. The next day I returned to the doctor. He removed the tubes and replaced the bandage for a smaller one. I had two more days of antibiotics and three of anti-inflammatory pills to go.

The size started reducing from there and the small pain I felt from the cuts was completely gone. I can’t even believe it was that easy to recover. How come some people say it hurts and there are a whole soap opera suffering during the recovery? C’mon people! Waxing hurts! Plastic Surgeries are a piece of cake!

My only small problem was two weeks after the procedure. The bra started rubbing on my stitches and a little of blood showed up. I had them glued back together and returned to my normal life.

In the third week my doctor was so amazed at my recovery that he left me start driving again, but said I should take it easy. This week he said I’m free from that horrible bra and I can wear whatever I like. I can go back to the gym and drive everywhere I want.

The only reminder of the surgery now is the little line below my breasts. I’m used to the new size and I love every second of it.

My doctor took pictures from before and after (that was yesterday), but instead of posting the pictures I’m going to post a drawing I made from them.



The last thing I have to say if for those who say you should be happy the way you are. That’s romantic crap! If you’re not happy the way you are just change! Don’t spend years in therapy trying to accept something you don’t like. Take a plastic surgery and let all the bad feelings go!

Tuesday, June 17, 2008

Things That Happen

I know I’ve disappeared for a while, but I’m here to explain the odd things that have been happening in my life. The reason why I didn’t post anything in over two months is because I’ve just moved to a new house. I had some problems with the telephone and the Internet and I was offline for about a month! Don’t ask me how I survived.

Meanwhile, I had to pack my entire house to move. On January 30th, my mother took my car to go to work and crashed it on a truck. It wasn’t anything serious, just a small scratch on the right door and a busted window. On February 2nd I sat down on the passenger seat of my own car and let my mother drive (my sister was in the backseat). We stopped at the red light behind two cars. At the green light the first car passed, then the second and at our turn another car passed on the red light and caught us, right at my side.

Now I know I’m capable of murder (which sounds ridiculously funny when you imagine a fuming 5’5’’ girl). My door was destroyed, but with my knee I busted it open and immediately flew at the driver’s neck.


Guess what? He was 58 years old and he didn’t have a license since 2003! While the people on the street held me back to not actually hit the man with as much vigor as I was insulting him, I noticed my sister crying and my mother holding her. She had broken an arm and my mom funnily didn’t know if she gave her the first aids or if she tried to stop me from murdering the old jerk.

Since he didn’t have any identification with him, I picked up my cell phone and started shooting pictured of the accident, at my wounds and at his car, so we could locate it in case he escaped. While I was shooting the pictures the old man simply abandoned his car and walked away. I saw him at the distance, but I didn’t go after him. He had just condemned himself: he ran away from an accident with a victim.

My mom saw the police not very far away and ran after them. When they arrived so did my dad (who was as furious as me, but since he’s twice my since he can be a little intimidating). My uncle was with him when my mother called for help and he came along. My uncle took my mom and my sister to the hospital. Since I was the less hurt I had to stay at the scene to go to the police station.

Half an hour later; still with our cars blocking the whole avenue, a young couple arrived and immediately came to me. The man said,
“Hi, I was the driver. Sorry I ran off.” I stood speechless for about ten seconds when I yelled,


“Yes, it was I!”

“Well, too bad whoever crashed into MY car had the misfortune to crash right into an artist. I can draw him right away. Actually, you do look alike. I bet he was your father.” And I couldn’t be more right.

Turns out my dad tried to hit the man for trying to convince me he was the driver and while the police held them back, the man’s wife came to me with tears in her eyes and with a rehearsed soap opera drama,

“You’re right, it wasn’t my husband, but he’s just trying to protect his father. His folk has heart problems and went straight home because it was too much for him to handle.”

“Very smart. He abandoned the crime scene. If he stayed an ambulance would come.”

“Wouldn’t you do the same to protect your father?”

“Actually, if my dad was a jerk and abandoned a girl with a broken arm as a result of an accident he imprudently caused I wouldn’t protect him. I wanted him in jail right away.” The woman looked stunned at my seriousness and looked away;

“Well, maybe you’re a little different.”

Her husband and my dad started insulting one another at that point, but the police had made them stay far apart. Suddenly, my dad said something I can’t recall and it offended the stupid wife. She started crying and advanced towards my dad, but I ran in between them. The policeman held her back and yelled at her,

“Lady, it has nothing to you with you. So SHUT UP and stand behind.” She wasn’t happy to be yelled at so, once again she came to me sobbing.

“You stop your dad. I can’t handle it when he insult people I love.” That was the point when I imagined myself on the cheesiest soap opera ever.

“You understand me, don’t you?” And with all the sarcasm I could manage I answered,

“Really? I don’t. You look like you’re going hysteric for nothing. I don’t believe in that 'exagerated love'you're talking about and I couldn’t understand why you’re so melodramatic. But I do know that the policeman told you stand back and shut up. If I were you I would do that or you will go to jail for not obeying him.”

“I can’t stand back while my love suffers!”

“Well, too bad the world doesn’t revolve around you. Go to your car and listen to some music, what you can hear can’t insult you.” And miraculously, she did just what I said.

Thankfully our cars were moved to the police station so I could fill out the official form. The parking lot at the police station was while open. My poor car wouldn’t even start. While I was waiting my turn I started realizing who badly I was hurt.

When I busted the door of the car open earlier I had completely destroyed my knee. It was a deep purple ball. My chest, my neck and my waist were starting to become purple as well because of the seat belt.

The time passed and I went to the parking lot to take a look at my car. Guess what? There was someone inside it moving around!!! How more ridiculous can this situation get? I was being robbed INSIDE a police station!!! I called the guard on duty, he arrested the dude and I had to take my car to the insurance agency.

The next day I couldn’t move. The impact was so strong that it completely worn out my muscles. I couldn’t bend down and I couldn’t look up. My whole body was stiff like a rock. I won’t even say how difficult it was to sleep for a week.

But college class would start and my car would take a month to get fixed. I borrowed my mother’s Astra and went to college. On my way there, in the worse avenue ever, I couldn’t change gears anymore. Yes, the gears just busted right in my hands.

I was already thinking someone had a crud sense o humor and was joking with me. I called my dad (he has a store that fixes car or something like that.) He took the Astra to his store and I was left with no car.

Of course when something goes bad it can always get even worse. Later that same afternoon while the car was hanging in the elevator and the mechanic was working underneath it a truck didn’t see the store while he was parking and snapped all the electricity wires. Without electricity the car was left hanging in the elevator for two days.

At that point I decided to stay home until my poor crashed car was ready. It took me a month, but finally I could pick it up. Of course nothing was flowers and chocolates that day. The side that had been crashed had been painted in a different color! How could I drive a car that was golden and beige in different sides? I had them to paint it again.

A week later finally I had my car in my hands. I checked the step tire and realized someone had replaced my new tire for an old one. Yep, I had been robbed again. I took a deep breath and decided to live with that.

And then you ask me if it’s over. Yes, pretty much over, except I went to a bar April 13th with a friend and when I returned to where I had parked it had a small crash in the back. I had to get it fixed again and I haven’t driven since.
I’ll get back driving next week. Let’s see if my luck is changed or if I’ll have to buy another car.

The accident

The jerk's car.

What was left of my poor baby.

Me, VERY angry with the sitbelt burn mark.