It felt like a metal worm gnawing at me persistently with little blunt teeth. It took maybe a couple of minutes on the left side. The right side felt basically nothing in comparison — blessedly numbed after I had groaned in pain during the anaesthesia. A pretty curios feeling, being stabbed in the chest by a long, sharp, thread-like cannula and feeling it deep inside (that's what she said?!), under my nipple. I felt the pain and an unexpected gush of relief, that was so sudden, it seemed like my nipple tumbled down into a gaping void.

Half an hour earlier I had eagerly walked in on time, following the instructions I had received at a consultation weeks in advance. It would be the day I'd undergo the surgery I had first considered when I was 17. I would become a man. Or anyway, a more standard flat-chested kind of a man. It was in a sense a hugely proud moment. All because last year, it had become apparent that for all my food abnegation and gym ablutions, my moobs weren't really going anywhere.

At least they took my glasses off when I got on the operating table. I think they should have put something on the ceiling though. Even my dentist years ago used to have a TV that would play the same 3 Pixar movie trailers on repeat. I got to absentmindedly meditate at a blurry white background while occasionally getting lipo fluid in the eyes... This only happens in Zurich. In hindsight, they should probably give you at least a face cover and an iPod with Swiss rap.

The best part is possibly the post-surgery leak. I wonder if this is what menstruating feels like. Some blood (pink lipo solution) comes out of your vagina (incisions) and you need to wear pads (much larger ones). I feel like I understand systemic oppression better now. And you need to wear a compression garment for a couple of weeks. This somehow mirrors corsets, right? But hey… Summer 2017, here I come!