Wednesday, the day of my departure for Canberra finally arrived. I was nervous. I also had a lot of things to do before I left that afternoon. The kids were up early as usual. My son that week had been waking between 4am and 5.30am. I put Frozen the movie on and went back to snuggle my eight-year-old daughter who’d come into my bed in the middle of the night. My mind was wide awake, busy with all I had to do before I left that day, as well as full of concern about how my husband would cope with the kids while I was away.

When we were all up, we decided to go out for a farewell breakfast at our local café. We had a nice breakfast together and then dropped my daughter off at school. When we got home, I went straight to my office and finished off some last-minute work that I didn’t want to hang over my head.

My bags were packed so I got my husband to load them into the car and off we went to complete some last-minute jobs before I caught the airport shuttle bus at 1pm. I went to my doctor and got another copy of my referral letter as the clinic had misplaced the original. I also went to the health food store to get supplies (vanilla sleepytime tea and coconut chips).

We popped in to see one of my best friends for a quick cuppa and farewell. My three-year-old Spencer did not want to leave as he was having such a good time playing with my friend’s two sons.

We arrived at the train station with plenty of time to pay for my bus ticket. I had apparently read the bus schedule wrong and the bus was getting into the airport 15 minutes later than I had expected, which would leave me a smaller window to check in. I was freaking out that if the bus was late, I’d miss my plane. I told my then husband, Nick. that if for some reason I wasn’t flying to Canberra, he’d have to come and pick me up and drive me to Canberra. There was no way I was missing my surgery the next day.

While waiting for the bus, Nick reminded me I should do an online check in for my flight. I was so nervous, my brain wasn’t working properly. I tried to do the check in, but it wouldn’t recognise my booking number. Then I realised I was using the third-party booking number and not the one from the airline, so I tried that. No success. I rang the airline, freaking out even more by now, wondering if I had booked my flight on the wrong day or something. Finally, I was able to check in, but only after a very stressful 20 minutes.

Spencer by now was distraught and cranky as Nick and I were on our mobiles, and then my laptop, trying to sort out the flight. So I had to have a big cuddle with him. We took him outside to see the shuttle bus. I put my hand luggage at the door of the bus and waited for the driver. I was determined to sit near the front so I wouldn’t get bus sick.

I gave Spencer my last farewell cuddles and then Nick bought him around to the side of the bus and we said goodbye through the window. 

I was a lot more emotional than I expected and hid my tears behind big black sunglasses. I trusted that Spencer would be fine without me, but I knew how much we would miss each other (he was only three after all).

As the bus drove off, I spoke with the driver. I told him how I was worried about the timing of our arrival and my fear of missing my flight. He said he’d get me there on time and not to worry. And he did.

When I got to the airport, I had plenty of time, but I was still worried about missing my flight. I got my big suitcase and put my carry-on bag on top. I then ran towards the departure area. I was just about to stop and reposition my carry-on bag when the accident happened. My carry-on bag, which was heavy with my laptop and other equipment, flew off the top of my suitcase and I tripped. I flew through the air and landed on all fours on the hard concrete. I was stunned, bleeding and bruised. Kindly security guards rushed forth to assist me. One commented that he had seen me running and had told his colleagues that I was going to fall. And I did.

One nice security guard, Jim, retrieved my luggage and assisted me up the escalators to the departure area. He was very kind and I really appreciated his assistance. I didn’t look at my knees until later and found that I had skinned them very badly, losing most layers of skin from my right knee. Everything was aching, and I was still in shock.

I got my luggage checked and then went to the departure gate. I was shaken up and would have liked a good cry. The fright alone, without the pain, would have been enough to make me cry.

I sat down at the departure gate and pulled up my leggings. What a mess. My poor knees looked terrible. I left my leggings rolled up above my knees to let them air. Two weeks prior to this, I had suffered an extreme virus where I thought I’d need stomach surgery, followed by a flu-like virus. So instead of heading into my surgery in peak health, I felt like I was falling apart.

Finally, I arrived in Canberra where my friend and I were nearly run down by a speeding vehicle. Was I attracting disaster because I was nervous and tired?

That night, I was meant to go out to a night market and light show, but I could barely walk. I was feeling emotionally vulnerable after a tough week and I just needed a rest. We decided to just have dinner at a local restaurant instead. It was relaxing and we were all exhausted, so the night ended early. I had been looking forward to my farewell to boobs dinner. I’m not much of a drinker, but I would have had a big drink that night if I could have (you can’t drink 24 hours before surgery).

Georgie and I went home to her house and she set me up in a bedroom in her spare junk room. It was very nice and looked comfy. I went straight to bed as we had to be at the clinic the next morning at 7.30am.

It’s been four weeks since my breast reduction. And I can’t believe what an impact it has had on me. Of course, there’s the nearly one kilo loss of weight around my neck and shoulders and they feel so much better for it. But what I didn’t expect was the range of emotions I’d experience.

The first two weeks post-surgery were pretty good. I was a little more emotional than normal and would feel tears well up easily. The really stressful emotions began at my last appointment with the nurse at the surgery clinic. She found that both breasts had a small wound breakdown. Nothing to worry about apparently as it is very common.

The left breast healed up quite well. The right breast unfortunately went from worse to worse. While it might be normal to them as clinicians, it’s not normal for me to have a large open wound in my left breast. I’m a squeamish person. I could never be a doctor, nurse or veterinarian. I can’t handle blood and other bodily fluids. I even have a no babysitting rule for children who aren’t toilet trained. So having a gaping wound makes me nauseous and anxious. In fact, when I first saw the wound once the scab had come off, I literally threw up.

Now two weeks on and my right breast has not healed. No one can give me a ballpark estimate of how long it will take to heal. A month, three months, six months? I’m quite surprised by my anxiety about this wound as I am not an anxious sort of person. Sensitive yes. Anxious no. But I’ve felt quite depressed about this wound breakdown and have mostly stayed at home for much of the past two weeks.

I feel like I’ve gone into my shell. I’ve mostly been absent on social media, barely bothering to check emails, and not leaving the house much. 

I’ve felt quite unwell and really tired and I’ve taken the time to rest and recover. Something I probably should have done more of in the first two weeks after surgery when I was child free.

I have even started to wonder if perhaps I’d made a mistake having the surgery. While my back and neck are much improved, I’m still in a fair amount of pain and discomfort along my suture lines. I sometimes get a very intense burning pain that is quite overwhelming. And I still can’t sleep on my side and if you’re not naturally a back sleeper, you can imagine how hard it is not to turn onto your side and sleep.

I am still wearing the post-surgery bra and have six months of wearing bras with no underwire. So I haven’t embraced bra and clothes shopping yet. My favourite clothes before the breast reduction don’t sit very well now. I purchased them because they did fit big boobs. So, I will soon have to buy some new clothes that suit my new figure.

Interestingly, some friends and acquaintances said they didn’t realise I was so well endowed before and can’t see much difference. Other friends have noticed a huge difference and have remarked that I am not in proportion.

I am thankful that my shoulders, neck and middle back no longer ache constantly. And I’m pleased with how perky my boobs are considering my age and five years of breastfeeding. I know the wound will have to heal eventually, so for now I have to concentrate on the blessings.

I have an appointment with the surgeon in another week. Hopefully, I can get some answers to my questions then. In the meantime, I’m spending time with my family, doing a bit of work, and trying to take it easy.