Read our real-life diary

The diary below, written by a real patient, will help you gain a real understanding of what a breast augmentation experience involves.
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Diary of a boob job – by a mybreast patient who wishes to remain anonymous

When I was pregnant, my breasts went from a 32A to a 36C. I kept my bra as a trophy. Sadly since I stopped breast-feeding my son, those perky 32As have become shriveled sacks. Although I don't want to look like Jordan, I would like a bust with a good shape. A 32B or C would be great.

I've always been a chicken-fillet girl; my boyfriend tells me I look fine, but I'm not happy and it's time to address the problem.

Thursday

A girlfriend tells me about a brilliant new website, mybreast, which uses the best surgeons and the best implants. Their team has an excellent reputation and they sound great on the phone. I book a consultation.

Wednesday

At a lunch party I get talking in the loo to a pretty actress who has the most perfect body I've ever seen. Trying to gauge if her boobs are real or not, I tell her that I'm planning to have breast implants. “Fantastic”, she says. “I had mine done in April and spent the summer on the beach in the tiniest of bikinis.” I'm sold.

Call my mother and tell her I'm having the operation. Our bodies are very similar, so she is incredibly supportive. She offers to look after my little one for a week during my recovery.

Go to bed and have an anxiety dream that I've had boobs done - they're huge. Woken by the alarm beeping, which in my semi-conscious daze I think is a hospital machine.

Thursday

I arrive at the mybreast clinic, which is my surgeon's practice. I like him at once. He is completely approachable, reassuring and professional. He tells me that this is not just a one-off op - I'm committing myself to a lifelong concept, so it's important that I know exactly what is involved. Then he asks me for my breast wish list. “I just want my breasts back - they've lost all their fullness since breast feeding and I would like them the way the used to be, or even slightly fuller,” I say.

Next we discuss the risks. He, very comprehensively, talks me through the operation and the potential hazards: infection and bleeding being rare and risks of any operation; in the long term, hardening of the implants (occurs probably in less than 1 in 10 women); and implant rupture. The last two might be reasons why I might have the implants changed for new ones in the future. He explains to me that modern implants are sturdier than the older types and so thankfully they happen much less frequently than before. I am also reassured by the safety of silicone today and that old worries about health hazards have now been put to bed.

He warns me that you can get changes in sensation of the nipples and the breast but these are usually temporary and settle over the course of time. I also never knew that it was possible to breast feed with implants – not that I'm ready for another one yet!

We get down to business. I remove my top and my surgeon and his nurse take my measurements. He says I'm slim and don't have a lot of breast tissue, so we mustn't go too big. Next he measures the distance between my nipples and various points on my chest wall. Then he brings out different types of implants; I try four sizes in a shock-absorber sports bra. I tell him I want a B-cup, but he explains that implants don't come in cup sizes - they're measured by volume in cubic centimetres. We finally go for a pair of 225cc textured silicones. Jordan has 800ccs.

My surgeon says silicone is the best for a natural look, and it feels much better. Salt water doesn't hold the shape as well. The Department of Health has found no link between silicone and the risk of serious illness - and forget those stories about boobs exploding on planes.

Time to discuss the operation. As I have fair skin and slightly drooping boobs, my surgeon says he will insert the implants under the chest muscle through incisions under each breast, which will leave four-centimetre scars. This is a little more uncomfortable than putting them on top of the muscle, but it will give a more natural shape. Initial healing will take two weeks and I won't be able to exercise for four or six weeks.

So what about the pain? “Expect to feel like you've overdone it on the bench press at the gym for the first four days,” says my surgeon. He hands me a consent form to study and shows me a box of homeopathic healing goodies. They include arnica tablets and rosehip oil to tune my body for surgery and lessen the bruising. These will follow in the post.

He asks me to go away and think about the whole process and the points we have discussed and advises me to return once more – “You might want to go through the sizing again or have further questions, there's a lot to take in.”

Friday

My friend Sophie, who had her breasts done six months ago, calls to tell me that men are useless at looking after women recovering from surgery, so she will take care of me. She knows exactly how I'll be feeling; “Very tender and emotional.”

Back to see my surgeon. I'm happy with the size we chose before. Once again he runs through the process for me and tells me to keep taking arnica and to buy a shock-absorber bra. He takes some “before” pictures of my breasts. Next time I see him I'll be tucked up in a hospital bed.

Buy the sports bra. It is hideous, so I compensate by browsing through a selection of frothy pink lace underwear, which I won't be allowed to wear until some weeks after the operation. I vow to return!

The calm before the storm. My little one has gone off to stay with my mother and I have taken to squeezing and staring at my boobs every five minutes. I've been wearing a padded 32B bra around the house to prepare. I've never been under general anaesthetic.

My last cup of tea. No more food or drink before the op.

Go to bed as I want 12 hour's sleep. I have to be up at 5am to go to the hospital.

Monday

Two weeks later I arrive at the hospital, where I'm greeted kindly at the admissions desk. The nurses are so sweet and welcoming. After I put on the fetching gown, paper knickers and surgical stockings, my surgeon comes in and draws what looks like a join-the-dots game on my chest. I feel very calm, even when I'm wheeled to theatre on a trolley.

The anaesthetist tells me to imagine somewhere I'd love to go on holiday. I start dreaming of sandy beaches when a nurse pipes up: “Yes, think of heaven.” The nerves kick in but before I can answer that, with any luck, I won't be going there, I'm under.

I wake up feeling like I've had a few glasses of wine. I look gingerly down. I'm taped up like a mummy around my chest and there is a sharp pain in my right breast - a bit like a stitch after a long run. The nurse tells me this is the drain and gives me a shot of morphine. I have two plastic tubes in each breast to drain excess blood (this is routine).

I arrive back to a room full of flowers. Sitting up, I feel dizzy and weak and there's a chemical taste in my mouth. I'm incredibly thirsty.

On my own, I feel emotional and weepy for no obvious reason. Propped up on a pile of pillows I can do nothing but think about underwear shopping.

As my surgeon predicted, my chest feels like I've done too much exercise. I don't feel I can lift my arms and I'm taking more shallow breaths than normal; deeper ones will be uncomfortable, I guess. I also stink of hospital smell. I think it's the iodine used to sterilise my skin for the op.

I touch the bandages. My implants feel warm, like part of me. I've had only one pain killer this afternoon, which I'm told is brilliant. I take a sleeping pill and pass out.

Tuesday

I wake up feeling really emotional and excited.

My surgeon checks up on me. He says that the drains can come out, and that I can go home today. They are attached to plastic bottles that hang by my side, collecting the drained blood. They're quite weighty - I feel a bit like a vampire milkmaid. A nurse comes and tells me to breathe out as she slides them out. It feels weird but a real relief when they are gone.

Wednesday

I close my eyes when my surgeon peels off my bandages. It feels a bit like having a wax. I see my new boobs for the first time. They look fantastic. I feel deliriously happy. Before they were just empty sacks of skin; now they are full and look and feel very natural. My surgeon fits me into my compressive bra; it has a Velcro belt at the top that pushes my breasts down. This will encourage the implants to sit properly. I'll have to wear it day and night for three weeks.

Thursday

Meet a friend for lunch. I'm conscious that I'm leaning on the table and putting my weight on my arms - my boobs are definitely heavier. She promises to come underwear shopping with me to get some idea of my new size.

The manageress tells me they don't fit bras so soon after surgery as it takes two to three weeks for the swelling to go down. After much persuasion she has a peep at my new boobs - she says they are one of the most perfect pairs she's ever seen. She thinks I'm a C-cup. I buy two sets of underwear.

Monday

The clinical nurse checks my breasts and changes the dressing, which is just a small pad under each breast. Trimming my soluble stitches, she says my scars are healing well. They look like someone has drawn a thin red line under each breast.

Monday… 2 weeks later

Liberation! At last I can burn that terrible support bra and wear my sexy new underwear. Since the op I have noticed both guys and girls checking out my new shape. I now have a balanced, womanly body and feel much more feminine and confident. I can't wait to get into a bikini next summer. Until then, I'll have to content myself with wearing my new collection of tiny tops.