My adventure in plastic surgery - part 7

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By this time it was the middle of August 1998. The day finally arrived to get the bandages off. Now, normally, I don't like to look at things like needles going in, or anything else like that. But I had, for the last month, had my boobs looking rather like ground meat, especially the spot where one of the skin grafts was being placed, so maybe I was hoping it was looking more normal. He removed the bandage and I glanced down. I looked away, but the image is seared in my memory. Instead of a nice, healing graft, there was a fuzzy, green hole. "I don't think I wanted to see that," I said to nobody in particular. The doctor leaned in and looked at it. "That is most unfortunate," he said. Talk about an understatement! He cleaned it out and told me that it had to heal and grow some "proud flesh" to fill in the hole before he could operate on it again. to be continued...