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PHOTO: NICKEL STINSON

Another diary entry.



We decided that a C cup would be perfect on my body, so I let the doctor file an insurance claim on my behalf and waited. I was told I was a good candidate, but that ultimately it was up to the insurance company. One night while waiting to hear back, I had a dream that the insurance company called to let me know that the claim was denied, and I woke up sobbing into my hand.



My insurance required that a certain amount of tissue be removed from each breast to deem it medically necessary. In my case, it was one pound from each breast. I lodged the typical complaints of back and shoulder pain, the main reasons that breast reduction is covered by insurance. But truthfully, the number-one reason I wanted it done was because of the psychological discomfort I felt. Back and shoulder pain is terrible, and a limited pool of available clothing is frustrating, but feeling uncomfortable in my own body was the most damaging thing for me. I wrote in my journal: "I’m tired of my breasts stopping me from doing the kinds of things I want to do. I’m tired of my breasts being more of an issue than my whole body."



When I got news that my claim was approved, I was overjoyed. I bought post-recovery bras and a backrest pillow. I took pictures of my old breasts so I would remember the way they looked — not just the way they felt and how uncomfortable I was carrying them around with me.



My diary during this time was tumultuous and raw. Even though I made the decision that I wanted the surgery, I still struggled with concerns. I worried whether guys would like me even without large breasts — of course, before that, I was concerned if guys only liked me for my large breasts. I wrote: "I even wonder if I’m a wuss for getting rid of them so early." I kept having fitful dreams, including one where I’d already had the surgery, and one breast was healing well, but the other was swollen, purple, and misshapen, with a piece of metal jutting out of it.