….or, a PSA for the fipple-inclined
So once in a while among the serious triathlon tips, the suggestions on how to follow my own strict Paleo-based diet, the gentle discourses on politics, etc., I like to impart some useful information to my sisters in breast cancerhood who might stumble upon this blog somehow. This is information that in many cases is totally useless to the rest of you, or may even be TMI for some, and I get that. If this isn't something that's become part of your life, like it or not, then reading about it is probably a bit disturbing. So stop reading now please, if you’re not in that “sisters looking for info” category.
Okay, where were we….oh yes, the fipple. There’s a reason we call them FrankenFipples. That’s because no matter what method they use to recreate the nipple - twist-and-stitch, a graft, etc. – when you first see it, you might totally and completely freak out and wonder what the hell your plastic surgeon has done. In fact, you might think that there was a mishap as the doctors were snacking in the OR and passing around the Dots, and oops! One fell to your breast and got stuck there! And they figured heck, that’s good enough, no one will notice.
You will notice.
Now me, I’ve read enough threads on YSC that all started the same way – “oh my god, I’m a freak, I’ll never look normal, what have they done!” – to know that this whole gumdrop-nipple appearance is totally normal, and to be expected. I know that and yet I’m still a bit skeptical, though trying to keep the faith. Motya was asking how they know how much the fipp will shrink, and she suggested that there was some kind of “fipple algorithm” they use to determine just how big you need to start out with, which I’m sure is the case. These are surgeons after all – they have this shit figured out.
So that’s my PSA for today – if you’re having the fipple surgery, or thinking about it, do NOT freak out when you see the little Mount Vesuviuses stuck on your chest. All will be well, eventually, after you go through what Kim described as the three stages of fipple recovery: meat grinder, nursing incident with teeth, and prickly fipple. Kim rocks because she came up with a shot that she christened the Prickly Fipple (pear vodka, pear liqueur, mint) – which definitely elevates her to Rock $tar status in my book.
Oh, and one final thing – do NOT get your hopes up that you’ll get the spongy nipple bundt cake thingies to protect the fipple! I was totally looking forward to that, based on someone else’s pictures/website, and what do *I* get? Plain old bandages. Hmph. I think this calls for a letter – or at least a visit to the craft store, to ask if they carry spongy nipple bundt cake thingies. I’ll report back.