When I hear the word “expander”, elastic waistband pants or an extra belt hole comes to mind? Almost right. But sort of more like this:
Without getting too graphic (although who doesn’t love a little blood and gore), once you are snuggled down and knocked out on the surgery table, all the good stuff underneath your boobs is taken out. Some of us kind souls make this part quick and easy for the surgeon. Then the tissue expander (see image above) is inserted into the now vacuous space, with a little saline to get the party started.
This process reminds me of Thanksgiving:
Just look all those turkeys on display at the grocery store; so big, so plump, and too darned many from which to choose. You end up with one that is more than a mouthful, eyeing the “post-expander pants” leftovers regretfully. With the oven preheated, eyes squeezed shut, sleeve rolled past the elbow, the slimy innards emerge in your clenched fist with gag reflex at the ready. Taking a deep breath, you dive back into the gutted cavity with whatever you saw/read/ heard/ Googled to be best stuffing ever. The breast is then tightly sewn together so that the doubled-stuffing, which will definitely improve the original recipe, will safely and securely stay put.
In place of the breasts your first boyfriend fondled like he was kneading bread dough, is an old fashioned water bottle, filled just enough to keep it bloated. When the mastectomy scars are (relatively) healed, the fun begins. It’s time to get to fillin’!. Don’t worry, it won’t hurt a bit; you’ll only feel a little pressure. I’ve learned that regardless of the procedure, of what’s being injected or removed, you’ll only ever feel a little pressure. Oh, and maybe a pinch. I bet that’s what they told the turkey.