The Boob Vetting Begins: Choosing My Breast Reduction Surgeon Like My Life Depended On It (Because It Kinda Did)

Part 2 of My Breast Reduction Journey

Alright, besties welcome back to The Chronicles of Tyanna’s Titties: Breast Reduction Edition. If you haven’t read Part 1 yet, catch up on why I finally said “these boobs gotta go.” But today? We’re getting into the meaty part (pun intended) how I chose the person who’d be snatching my chest like a Black Friday sale.

Now, let’s get this straight:
I wasn’t just gonna let any ol’ scalpel wielding stranger come near my body. No ma’am. Not when this body is a money maker, heartbreaker, and occasional “Can I get a free drink?” conversation starter.
Not to be dramatic (but yes, let’s be dramatic), my entire career, confidence, and cute top collection depended on this surgery being flawless.

So, I knew I had to be picky like TSA agent with an attitude and a magnifying glass picky.

Here are the five things I did to vet my surgeon and make sure my boob reduction would be a blessing, not a cautionary tale on Reddit.

I Used EVERY Corner of the Internet Even the Crusty Ones

When I say I scoured the internet, I mean I was on my detective mode like a jilted girlfriend with a gut feeling and screenshots for evidence.
I hit Google, Yelp, TikTok, Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, Reddit if it had a search bar and opinions, I was on it.

I read every review like it was a dramatic novel. I started from 1 star reviews first because if someone said “My left boob healed sideways” or “The surgeon ghosted me mid-op,” I needed to know upfront.

I was reading comments like:

“The nurse had bad vibes.”
“The doctor smiled weird.”
“Recovery was smooth and I love my new boobs.”

I was zooming in on before/afters, comparing breast shapes like I was judging a bake off. If the girls didn’t sit right? If they looked uneven? If they gave “chopped and screwed energy”? They were off my list. Fast.

I Asked 1,000 Questions and I Meant EVERY Single One

I don’t care if Google already had the answer. I wanted to hear it from the surgeon’s mouth, in HD audio, preferably with eye contact.
I asked about risks, recovery, scarring, nipple sensation, breast symmetry, anesthesia, post op bras literally everything.

If they flinched, side eyed me, got snippy, or even sighed too hard BYE.
Compassion was non negotiable. You’re not just cutting me open; you’re literally reshaping my body. The LEAST you can do is answer my questions without acting like I’m asking for your Social Security number.

If I felt like I needed a translator to understand the doctor or like I was annoying them for caring about my own body

I wanted a surgeon who treated me like a human, not a pair of before and after photos.

Breast Reductions HAD to Be Their Specialty. Period.

Listen… a lot of surgeons are jack of all trades, master of none types. They’ll do your nose on Monday, a BBL on Tuesday, and a boob lift by lunch on Wednesday.

That’s cute for them but NOT for me.

I specifically wanted someone who lives, breathes, and dreams breast reductions. Someone who could probably do it with their eyes closed (though preferably not).

Sure, I peeked at their tummy tuck work, their rhinoplasties but I was DEEP in the reduction folder like I was looking for an Easter egg.
If I saw one lopsided boob or something that looked like a DIY job? X. Off. The. List. Immediately.

I had NO room for mediocrity, baby. My chest was going from DDD to divine, not from “Ouch” to “Oops.”

I Asked About Recovery Time Because I Have a Life, You Know?

One thing I learned QUICK every surgeon has a different idea of recovery.
Some said “You’ll be out for 2 weeks,” others said, “You’ll bounce back in 5 days.”

When I finally met my surgeon (who was, ironically, toward the end of my search), he told me,
“Oh, most of my patients are back on their feet in 2-5 days.”

And I was like… “Sir, you must be high.”
I’d just spent weeks deep diving into forums and watching YouTube horror stories where women couldn’t lift their arms for 10 days straight.

But plot twist: he wasn’t lying. His recovery timeline matched the stories of some women who actually healed super quickly and I was shook.
Turns out, he was just that good. (Spoiler alert for Part 3: I was walking around like a brand new woman by Day 4.)

So yeah recovery talk mattered. I needed realistic timelines, not fairy tales.

I Compared Prices Like a Coupon Mom But With Insurance

I’m not even gonna pretend money didn’t matter. I’m cute, not careless.

I ran all the options through my insurance portal like a spreadsheet queen. Who was in network? Who offered pre authorization help? Who was gonna give me the best boob bang for my buck (pun very much intended)?

And baby, when I tell you there were some surgeons charging luxury tax prices, while others were literally covered 100% under my plan?!
You already KNOW I did that math like I was filing taxes with a calculator and a prayer.

I wasn’t gonna drop thousands just for someone to leave me with lopsided titty trauma. NO THANK YOU.

And Then… I Found The One

Y’all… when I finally picked my surgeon, I was excited, relieved, terrified, and lowkey giddy. I was ready to pop champagne, cry a little, and throw my old bras in a bonfire.

I felt like I was marrying into a new life a life where my back doesn’t hurt, my tops fit, and I can run without causing a small earthquake.

Did I feel nervous? Yes.
Did I still question if I was doing the right thing? Also yes.
But deep down, I knew this was going to change my life for the better. And honestly?

It’s the best breakup I’ve ever had. Me vs. my boobs. And spoiler alert: I WON.