If you're still hanging in there with my story, thank you! If this is your first time clicking on this type of article by me, click here to check out the first part of my story.

There was no doubt about it; I was scared. I was scared that the X-rays would come back with nothing wrong with me. I was scared that by making the plastic surgery consult, I was giving in to the hype and stigma of plastic surgery. In October, I was constantly seeing celebrities being bashed in the media for admitting to having some sort of work done or hiding that they had work done.

After talking with my roommate about it, I decided to make the appointment with the surgeon. After all, the worst they can say is "no." The appointment was scheduled, but I had a month to wait. A month. What was I supposed to do for a month?

The current semester was still in full swing, and my anxiety was at a full-time high. With a month to wait for my appointment, there were multiple scenarios going through my head. The most prominent was walking into the doctor's office, getting one glance and a huge laugh towards me.

"You don't need a reduction."

"You're young. We don't operate on those who are still of childbearing age."

"You're not a good candidate for this procedure."

That last one stuck with me daily. I would cry about it every other day because I was so scared of being denied. Looking back, I'm positive my roommate thought I was going crazy.

After being stir crazy for so long, it was finally time for my appointment. My mom came with me for my first appointment. We checked in, and it felt like the longest wait ever. In reality, it was a long wait because of how busy, I learned later on, my hopeful surgeon is.

"Mackenzie Hoffman?"

There it was. A call to go back. I was lead to my exam room, told to put on the white robe and to have a seat because the doctor would be right in.

My nerves were already at an all-time high, but having to wait even longer in an exam room? I started crying, almost telling my mom that "I just want to go home. I can't do this."

About five minutes after my brief meltdown, the door opened and there was the surgeon.

After about 10-15 minutes, he told me I am a very good candidate for a breast reduction. A very good candidate. It took all that I had to not burst out in tears right there in the exam room.

He took photos for insurance, made sure I knew all I could and answered all the questions he could. Then I was off. He would file for insurance that same week, but it could take weeks to a couple of months to be approved. Thus, the waiting game had begun.

I share the continuation of my personal experience with a breast reduction weekly, so make sure that you are on the look-out for them!