It's normal to be disappointed; it's not like we've gone to get implants in the hope of making the cover of Sports Illustrated. There is that element of 'better than nothing' but it's a shabby second prize compared to having your own, lovely or not so fabulous, boobs.
Once things settle down and people stop poking, prodding and squeezing you the whole thing starts to become more bearable. I will never look in a mirror and be happy with what I see, but I'm now more focused on my flabby belly and saddlebag hips. I've got half a chance of fixing those if I get off my arse. The foobs, meh, just got to put up with them; which gets easier with time as you get further away from being a part of some weird experiment. Marg xxx