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Before Extreme Makeover ever hit television, I was a poster child for plastic surgery.
My surgeon displayed my before-and-after photos in medical seminars and classrooms across the nation, touting me as a breast augmentation "success story." But there's another side to this story—my side.
Before surgery, I didn't have enough body fat to fill out a training bra. I had a 28-inch bust line and a boyfriend, Chad*; losing him spurred me to get the breast implants I occasionally mused about. I was only 25 at the time.
Losing a Boyfriend, Gaining a BustI met Chad at a bar, where I was hanging out with a non-Christian friend to cheer her up after a recent breakup. Chad and I talked all evening; it didn't take me long to realize I was more attracted to him than to any of the Christian guys I knew. Although I realized God didn't want me to become seriously involved with a non-Christian, the dearth of dates on my calendar convinced me I had nothing to lose. So I called him a few days later, and we began dating. In a few months' time, I had fallen hard for Chad, thinking he was the one. When he unexpectedly ended our relationship, I was devastated; I fretted over what was so wrong with me that the man I loved could drop me without explanation. All the names I'd been called in my youth—"Twiggy," "stick figure," "toothpick"—came back to me.
Depressed, I had breast implants within three months of our breakup. As a believer, I had an inkling getting implants wasn't part of God's plan. But I was tired of being single, and I saw implants as a way of securing the attention of eligible men. Surprisingly, my family supported my decision. My flat-chested mother encouraged me to go for it. She wore padded bras because my father, a non-Christian, made her feel inadequate next to the big-breasted centerfolds he ogled in Playboy. My eldest sister, whose breasts were now saggy and stretch-marked after nursing two children, also was considering breast implants. As I told a friend after my surgery, "Some women color their hair after a breakup. I got a boob job."
Once I healed, I called Chad and told him what I'd done, secretly wondering if I could win him back now that I'd improved my looks.
"Why'd you do that?" he asked, a disbelieving laugh in his voice. "Don't you think I knew how much you had when I first asked you out?"
I expressed my insecurities about our breakup, and he told me he needed to end the relationship because my faith and his aspirations to become a professional athlete were in conflict.
"While you want to go to church stuff," he said, "I want to work out." An unbeliever, Chad recognized my "church stuff" took too much time away from his training. The breast implants failed to win me the love I craved, but I comforted myself with a shopping trip, buying bras and strapless dresses that, for the first time, actually fit.
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