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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 Bust
I 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.

	I'd been elated to get them, feeling as though I finally went through a part of puberty I'd been cheated of. But I was only kidding myself.

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.

Unwanted Distraction
I changed jobs and churches shortly after getting the implants and made sure I dressed in a way that didn't flaunt my new figure. A few people who knew me commented that I looked bustier than they remembered, but I just responded, "Yeah, I finally gained some weight."

Not wanting to become romantically involved with another unbeliever, I visited Christian singles groups and churches with a singles ministry. When I walked into the churches, some of the women looked worriedly at me and a few even latched on to the arms of their husband or boyfriend.

I was unused to this reaction. Now a B-cup at max, I wasn't disproportionately large. But at 115 pounds and 5'7", I looked like a blonde ballerina with boobs. Overnight, it seems, I'd turned into some sort of threat.

At the time of my surgery, my surgeon had discussed the risks of breast augmentation: capsular contracture (breasts hardening like rocks); rupturing; rippling; "bottoming out" (breasts sinking in the breast pocket); and pain or loss of pleasurable sensation. I also knew not to expect my breast implants to last a lifetime.

What I wasn't warned about were social situations I wasn't prepared to handle. Outside the church scene, men regularly eyed my breasts instead of my face when talking to me, and even occasionally made lewd comments. Even at a Christian singles activity, a man once caught me alone and made a suggestive remark. I stared at him, not knowing what to say.

"Don't try to tell me you're still a virgin," he said, sneering. But I was.

I now seemed to attract the wrong kind of guy. And I worried that my future husband might be disappointed when he learned the truth about my breasts.

My implanted breasts felt unnaturally firm to me, pressing into my rib cage like two tennis balls whenever I tried to sleep on my stomach. They got in my way when I tried to swing golf clubs or do everyday tasks. Although I'd been elated to get them, feeling as though I finally went through a part of puberty I'd been cheated of, I now felt I was kidding myself. These weren't breasts; they were bags of saline and silicone riding around on my chest wall, high-tech stuffing for bras.

I felt I was carrying a secret that might harm me if I revealed it too soon in a relationship, but might harm me even more if I revealed it too late. How, as a Christian, was I to bring up my breasts in a conversation with a date?

Back to God's Original Plan
After three years with the implants, I began dating Steve*, a Christian who treated me the way men had before my surgery. I felt so comfortable with him that I shared the truth about my implants.

"They don't feel real to me," I said. "I wish I could go back, but I'm scared what my body might look like after another surgery."

"Get rid of the implants," Steve said. "If a man's right for you, he shouldn't need them to feel attracted to you. I don't."

A few months after we began dating, Steve asked me to marry him, and a few months later, I had my surgery reversed.

Through my experience, I learned large breasts can be a blessing or a curse, just as small breasts or no breasts can be. We're created by God in different ways, and those ways each have their advantages and disadvantages. Before my implants, I'd been blinded by society's ideas of how I should look. I hadn't realized being flat-chested could serve as a firewall to so many sleazeballs. I'd also lost sight of the fact God had personally crafted me in my mother's womb, that I was "fearfully and wonderfully made" (Psalm 139:14) by him—and that included my small bust! I now realized what mattered most to God was my heart, not my cup size.

After we were married, I said to Steve, "One thing I always loved about you is that you looked at me when you spoke to me. You didn't stand around ogling my breasts like other guys did."

Steve coughed slightly and said, "You know, honey, some men are attracted to boobs; some aren't so much."

Fishing for a compliment, I asked him, "So what are you attracted to?"

"Well," he said, "I couldn't help noticing that cute little tush of yours."

I'm sure God was laughing at all my previous antics to land this man, the love of my life.

Tamara Wells is a pseudonym for a freelance writer living in the Midwest.

* Names have been changed.

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