ParfumGigi@aol.com

4 mai 2008

In her late 20s, Texan Timmie Jean Lindsey decided to divorce her first husband and get her first tattoo. "I'd led a very protected life," she says. "I went from being under my dad's hand to being married at 15, and I wanted to do something to surprise people. So I got a pretty rose on my chest - and was immediately disenchanted with it."

So Lindsey went to see a doctor, Frank Gerow, in her home town of Houston about getting the tattoo removed. As it happened, Gerow was one of a group of plastic surgeons who were pioneering breast augmentation using silicone prostheses. He was looking for 12 women to take part in the first human trials, and asked Lindsey if she'd be one of them. She agreed. "I had a cousin who'd had her breasts done several years before, but they weren't with the silicone implant. She told me that when she went to bed, they would roam around in her chest."

Earlier experiments with augmentation involved injecting various materials, including glass, paraffin and silicone, into the breasts. The consequences were disastrous, with side-effects ranging from inflammation to organ damage. What Gerow and his team had created was the first implant that would, in theory, keep its shape and not damage the woman's health.

Gerow told Lindsey of the need for breast augmentation; that silicone implants would mean women who had had breast cancer could have their breasts repaired. He also said he could improve her looks. "I'd never thought about it before," Lindsey says, "but I suppose after children your breasts aren't what they used to be. Dr Gerow said he could lift my breasts back to how they used to be and I thought, oh, I'd like that. I'd like them to be perkier." Gerow then asked Lindsey if she knew anyone who might be interested in taking part in the trial. She told her sister-in-law, Barbara, about it; Barbara told her sister-in-law, and so on, until a group of 12 were assembled as guineapigs.

Lindsey's operation went smoothly. "I wasn't afraid to have it done - I had complete trust in the doctors. Maybe I was too young to be afraid. And, besides, I was just so glad to get that eyesore of a tattoo off my chest. Before the surgery, they asked if I wanted to see the prostheses, but I said no. I didn't want to dwell on the idea of something foreign inside me. Out of sight, out of mind. When they unwrapped me, I looked at them and thought, they're just like my old breasts, but now I can go without a bra if I want. After that, I went home and never really thought about them again."

Did anyone notice? "I had a brief period of getting noticed more by men - I got wolf whistles and things like that - and I liked it. But I didn't tell many people. A few months after the operation, I met and married my second husband, and he made it clear that he didn't want to discuss the implants. He asked me to stop wearing tight jumpers and shirts, which I didn't mind because I was married and didn't want to wear things that drew attention to me any more. It wasn't that I was ashamed - I'd have talked about the implants if anyone had asked - but it's just not something that came up."

Lindsey is now 76 and says she has had few problems with her implants, although she does admit that, over the years, they have hardened. "You can feel the prostheses if you press, but I have enough breast tissue so it really isn't that noticeable. And they've aged, like I have. They haven't stayed straight up and perky; they've drooped, too. They feel like part of me now."

What about the other women involved in the trial? "I think I was the only one who came out good. Barbara got very ill. She had arthritis and liver disease, and she blamed the implants. Lots of women had trouble with silicone leaking into their systems. Some of them died."

During the 80s and 90s, 15,000 women took action against Dow Corning, the company that manufactured the implants Gerow helped formulate. In 1998 it made a multibillion-dollar payout. Even so, Lindsey remains a believer. "After the lawsuits, scientists pretty much proved that silicone is safe. When I got osteoarthritis, people told me it could be connected, but I think it's just something that happens as you get older."

The week after we speak, Lindsey's 32-year-old granddaughter will be getting implants of her own, and Lindsey says the thought frightens her. "In my early years, I didn't think about the dangers, just the end result, but a few months ago a 16-year-old having implants died on the operating table from the anaesthetic. Kids of 16 haven't developed their true thoughts about things. They should be made to wait. But for women who've had breast cancer, or who have had children, then I think it's good - it can be empowering to fix yourself up. I'll just have to trust that my granddaughter gets a good doctor."

How does it feel to have been involved in the first trials of a procedure that has become so common? "My granddaughter says she's proud of me - she thinks I'm a pioneer. As I've got older, I can see that test trials can be a good thing. I'm sure somebody was in a test trial for the knees they've put in me for my arthritis. And heart bypasses - there had to be somebody who was first for that. Someone has to be the first for just about everything."