To cut or not to cut?

Yesterday I went to visit a plastic surgeon.  That’s right.  I’m thinking of having some “work” done.  This has been the big question. ”Shall I grow old gracefully?”  Letting the jowls fall where they may?  Or shall I take whatever steps I can, extreme or otherwise, to slow the whole thing down?

When I was in my twenties and thirties and maybe even my forties, I would have said “not I!”  I will not cut and paste what God gave me to try and fool myself and others into believing I’m still a kid.  That was well before the face in the mirror became that of my grandmother and even when I’m feeling perking and peppy, my eyelids say, “Where can I lie down?”

The whole exercise of looking in the rearview mirror and pulling my face this way and that way has been going on for a couple of years.  If only I could wear a really tight, really high pony tail and not get a headache!

This was not my first trip to a plastic surgeon for a consultation.  The first one was about fourteen years ago, just before Tom and I were married.  At that time I was still working and even considering breast augmentation.  (By the way, the doctor thought I was crazy.  My breasts are just fine.)

I got an estimate on the whole deal, face, eyes, chin and boobs.  I even booked the date for surgery. Then I went home and read the material the doctor had given me that explained the procedures.  That was it!  I called and canceled.  The thought of someone peeling off my face, repositioning it and sewing it back on, was too vivid an image for me.  I was terrified.  Plus, who are we kidding; I looked good fourteen years ago.  My eyelids still had a little bounce and I only had a couple of chins.  I must say at this point, things have changed?

Now about my friends.  Everyone one of them is beautiful.  Truly beautiful, outside as well as beautiful on the inside.  I have a very good friend-picker.  Some have had a little work done and others have not.  Do I love the more youthful looking girls more?  Of course not!  Do I love them less?  Hell no!  How I see each of them is from the radiance of the heart within.  Their sags or wrinkles do not diminish their beauty in any way.  Neither does the lack of sags or wrinkles change the way I feel about them.  So this tells me that nobody cares about my face but me.  That’s right, it is how I see myself.

When I was in my twenties I had a manicurist named Margot.  Her name alone was exotic and sexy.  She was a tall blonde, Swedish girl who wore her hair in a kicky, high, side ponytail.  I thought she was stunning!  She was forty-seven and had a mass of crows-feet around her eyes.  I remember making a mental note that Margot was hot, even with wrinkles, and that I would hold on to that fact.  (I don’t recall her having three chins or a sagging jaw line or eyelids that could easily be turned into a tent.)  She was beautiful and she had wrinkles.  Case closed.

About eight years ago, one of my “in-the-know” friends, turned me on to a doctor in LA who gave injections of filler and Botox.  I decided to check him out.  I did and then I went for it!  First thing he did was to shoot me up in the face with lydocane.  May I just say OUCH!  The painkiller was the worst part.  Then he put more than a hundred little shots of something in my face.  (I have used this memory of the pain I endured at the dentist many times when I think that cleaning my teeth will put me over the edge, reminding myself that I’ve had a hundred shots in my face.)  He finished it up with just a touch of Botox into my forehead and above my eyes.  I went home clutching icepacks to my face and a little bit frightened about the jack-o-lantern look that was appearing in my rearview mirror.

The next day two things had happened.  First of all I confirmed that yes, I bruise easily.  Every one of those little injection sights had turned black and blue.  Next I learned that swelling takes a while to go away, and last but certainly not least, I learned that I am the one in a hundred people who is allergic to Botox.  That’s right, one of the side affects can be, a complete relaxing of the injected muscles that cause everything to DROOP!  My eyelids were down around my knees!  No more Botox for me.

At that time Tom and I were about to embark on a three-week vacation to Italy with my sister and her husband.  My sister, who is three years younger than I, took great pleasure in sharing my misfortune with some of the other guests in our group.  One night at cocktail hour when I was sipping my Pellegrino in the bar, her friend Bill sat down and looked me in the eyes, closely and said quite sincerely, “You don’t look as bad as I thought you would!”  I think it was meant to be a compliment.

Still, I became a fan of “plumping.”  I went every six to nine months for a little filler, until the day when  my doctor said, “That’s it Kathy!  You need a facelift.”  So here I am, sitting with the big dilemma.    To cut and paste, or not.  My husband is supportive.  He says he cares more about my diet and exercise than he does about the number of my chins.  He is also laughing about the fact that it has only been a few weeks since I got a new car and now I’m on to the next “big project.”  (Actually, he’s more moaning than laughing.)

There are those who will think I am ridiculously self-centered and vain and they would be right.  It is an embarrassment, it really is.  But if I don’t feel like myself when I look in the mirror, who then am I ? 

I guess I am an older, wiser, fuller me.  My eyelids are tired because they’ve been up for a very long time.  This morning when I did my boot-camp workout at 6:00 my heart rate shot up to 200 and I had to lie down.  I am sixty three years old.  I have grown children in their forties and grandchildren in college.  Maybe I SHOULD look old.  I’ve earned it.  Problem is, I don’t want to!  I do not gracefully accept the evidence.  I’m still working on it though and today it is a moot point anyway.  My piggy bank is a little slim.  Maybe I’ll get started on that diet and exercise and see where it takes me.  In the meantime, I’ll avoid mirrors.

My life is so glamorous!  It’s just not fair!  Lucky for me!!

 

 

 

 

Comments

[Irksat]

I truly love how honest you are

[Shelley Meaney]

I love the blog! Aren't you a little bit curious to see where your eyelids are taking you? It could be fun!
One problem with women who look twenty years younger than they actually are is that they do not get the help they need when they need it.

[Ohio Cosmetology CE]

Thanks for sharing this, I will be very careful if I see a surgeon, women always want to look younger, but I prefer natural things over artificial ones.