MY FAKE BOOB FELL OUT OF MY CHEST

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LAUREN WAS FED UP OF LOOKING LIKE A BOY – SO MUCH SO THAT SHE DECIDED TO HAVE A BOOB JOB TO INCREASE HER BUST SIZE.

LAUREN, 25, WENT FROM A SIZE A TO A DD IN A £4,000 OPERATION, BUT WAS LEFT FEELING A LITTLE SORE AFTER THE IMPLANT FELL OUT OF HER BOOB.

TO RUB SALT INTO THE WOUND, LAUREN WAS LEFT LOPSIDED WITH JUST ONE IMPLANT IN HER CHEST FOR SEVEN MONTHS.

IT WOULD COST HER £1,000 MORE TO FIX THE BOTCHED JOB.

My breast implant fell out of my chest

My breast implant fell out of my chest

NO MATTER HOW many times I go to see a psychic, I always get butterflies beforehand.

Sat in the waiting room the last time was no different. But this time, I felt as though something was going to happen that would change my life forever.

“Lauren Yardley?” asked the voice from behind the curtain; and in I went.

For a good minute or two there was complete silence as the psychic and I just stared at each other.

Just as I was starting to feel a little uncomfortable, he said, very matter-of-factly: “You want breast implants, don’t you?”

Stunned by this sudden revelation, I burst out laughing, more from awkwardness than anything else.

“You’re absolutely right. I do,” I blushed.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve always hated my body.

But the thick jumper I was wearing gave nothing away regarding the size of my chest.

So there was no way he could have known the suffering I’d been going through my whole life.

I’m naturally a skinny girl and having small breasts has made my life very hard.

While my friends all have very curvy, womanly figures, I have always had a very boyish shape and it has constantly gnawed at my confidence.

Having breast surgery was something I had thought about many times before, but never actually considered it a possibility.

But after this ‘ice breaker’ it suddenly became a very real possibility.

That night I spoke to my sister Natalie, 23 about it.

“I think I’m going to do it, Nat. The psychic gave me the number of really good surgeon and said that if I say his name I’ll be able to get a discount.”

“I think you should,” said Nat. “And what’s more, I think I’m going to get mine done too.

“Let’s buy what Mother Nature never gave us.”

Cue screams and cuddles and jumping up and down on the spot.

I am very close with my sister. We live together, holiday together, and we even do then same job: nursery worker, although at different schools.

There maybe four years between us, but we’re more like twins than anything.

Nothing can cheer up a girl who can’t fill an A cup bra. But when I learned my sister was going to be there with me, going through the same thing, I was delighted.

A couple of months later and we’d both paid for the operation and had booked ourselves in for surgery.

During the consultation process they had told me that there is a risk of complications but that there was nothing really to worry about.

“Like everything in this life,” I thought to myself as I signed the papers agreeing to go ahead.

Once again I was sat in a waiting room with butterflies buzzing around my tummy. Only this time my sister Nat was there holding my hand.

By the look on her face, though, she was having second thoughts too.

But it was too late. They called out her name and she was whisked off by the anaesthetist.

A couple of hours later, after my own surgery, I woke up in tears.

I don’t remember the details because I was still drugged up, but the nurse told me the first thing I did was cry for my sister.

When I was well enough to be allowed to see her, it was like looking in a mirror.

I couldn’t see my own breasts, but by the look of Nat’s they had done a great job on both of us.

Over tea and toast, we sat in Nat’s bed chatting about the op and about what clothes we were going to buy.

“The first thing I’m going to get is a new bikini,” I said.

“Me too,” she said. “I cannot wait for Tenerife!”

We had booked a holiday for that summer and we were dying to get some new clothes for it.

Not only that, my confidence was boosted straight away. I didn’t go around wearing low cut tops or seeking attention or anything like that, but in myself, I’d turned a corner.

I felt as though my body was the shape it should be. I finally felt like a woman.

But to my horror, after only a few months, my right breast started to become hard and lumpy.

I was at work playing with the kids and I noticed that it had become really uncomfortable.

The surgery had told me to contact them if ever I started to feel uncomfortable or worried that something didn’t feel right, so after telling my dad, he rushed me to the surgery.

“It’s probably a capsular contractor,” she said. “It’s where your tissue tightens around the implants and your body rejects anything that’s put into it.”

I was terrified that they were going to have to take it out. I had grown so used to my new boobs and my new confidence. I couldn’t bear the thought of having them removed.

“We’ll have to take it out and clean it and then we’ll put it back in,” she added.

At that point though, I was just glad that I was going to keep my new boobs.

The surgery went well and I was sent home with some pain relief tablets.

But then a couple of weeks later, I noticed a small blister on the underside of my boob.

I went back to the clinic, again, and they gave me some antibiotics to stop it getting infected and told me to keep it covered and wrapped up.

I went back to work as normal and for the rest of the week Nat would help me bandage up the blister to stop the infection.

Then one day, when she looked at it, she froze.

“Oh my god, Lauren. Something’s not right. It’s coming out.”

But because I couldn’t see it I didn’t realise how serious it was. I carried on at work, lifting and playing with the kids, and because I couldn’t feel it, because there was no pain, I had no idea how bad it was getting.

Then, when my auntie saw it, she demanded I go to A&E.

“Jesus, Lauren!” she said going white. “It’s hanging all the way out of your boob! You’ve got to go to A&E. And I’m coming with you.”

On the way to A&E I sent a picture of the implant coming out to my surgeon, and by the time we had arrived, he’d replied.

“Don’t let them take it out,” he said. “You have to come to the clinic and we’ll remove it properly for you.

“There’s a risk of septicaemia if it’s not done properly.”

The next day when I arrived at the surgery, it was literally hanging all the way out. There was little more than half a centimetre flap of skin keeping it in my boob.

“It’s got to come out,” said the surgeon immediately after seeing me.

“It’s got to come out, and it’s got to stay out for at least a couple of months.”

My heart sank.

A couple of months?!

I was going on holiday in a few weeks. I couldn’t go with lopsided boobs. I’d look ridiculous.

Breaking down in tears I begged him not to take it out.

“You can’t leave me like this,” I wailed. “I can’t have just one boob!”

But the surgeon reassured me that it was in my best interests and that it would only be a few short months.

But the few short months slowly turned into seven gruelling months in which I was left completely flat chested on one side.

The worst part was going on holiday.

I had bought a whole suitcase full of lovely new bikinis and tops to wear.

Only now I had to wear horrible chicken fillets to make my chest look even!

When I got there, all I could do was laze about on the beach. I barely did anything fun or active, let alone go for a paddle.

The one time I did dare go in the sea, a huge wave washed over my head and dragged me under the water.

When I came up for air, my chicken fillets had come loose.

Panicking, I scoured the surf for them, to see if they were bobbing about in the waves.

Then my friend Monique shouted at me from the sand.

“Are these your filets?” she yelled, holding them up above her head.

Mortified, I held my hand to my chest and waded out of the water towards her, grabbed them out of her hand and stuffed them into my bikini.

“That’s the last time I’m going in the sea,” I said, and we all fell about laughing.

I did meet a guy after we came back from holiday. But I had to explain to him what had happened to me.

“Before this goes any further I just want to let you know that this area,” I said, circling the flat side of my chest with my finger, “is a no go.”

Eventually though, after what seemed like the longest seven months of my life, surgeons put the implant back in and now I feel completely right in myself again.

I wouldn’t advise anyone to get implants now. But if they do, they have to ask about the risks involved, and to research them properly. It’s the only thing I wish I’d done differently.

ENDS

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