A Patient’s Prayer
O Lord, please give my surgeon a restful night’s sleep and may peace and harmony reign in his household.
May his hands be steady and his eyes clear.
May the word “oops!” not be heard, nor an “uh-oh” be uttered.
Let there be not scabs, scars, oozing nor bleeding, nor wailing and gnashing of teeth.
May the spirits of Aphrodite, Venus and Elizabeth Arden guide his hand, nay the spector of Joan Rivers, Phyllis Diller and Janet Leigh shall be banished from the room.
O Lord, give me the strength to suffer the shirt-term discomfort for the possibility of not being offered the “Senior Beverage” at Burger King for a few more years.
To the Plastic Surgeon or the Veterinarian?
They say that as pet owners age they start to resemble their dogs. This might not be such a bad thing if your dog is a stock number such as a greyhound or a cute cuddly toy breed. In my case, my Scarlett is a basset hound. Now on her, the sad, droopy eyes and pendulous jowls are positively endearing. Those qualities never fail to elicit a smile and head pat and frequently a “yummy.” On me, these features made me look old and weary and never scored a single “yummy.” In fact, during the past five years I developed an allergy to mirrors.
Now, I have to tell you, despite my matronly outward appearance, inside their beats the heart of a teenager. I still won’t turn off the car engine until Frankie Valli finishes “Big Girls Don’t Cry.” Lately I had begun to look more like a fan of Rudy Vallee. My eyes, reputedly the “windows of the soul,” looked as though the shades were half drawn, and my former rosy cheeks had dropped down to the lower half of my face, luffing in the breeze on a windy day. We won’t even talk about the area under my chin! A more prominent dewlap was never seen in any barnyard! In short, the sands of time had taken there inexorable but rapid downward shift in celebration of my 50th birthday. Bummer!
I’ve watched enough graphic documentaries about plastic surgery to know that the aforementioned changes are not irrevocable. The question was, was I ready? After seeing a recent candid snapshot of myself, the answer was “YES!!!” A visit to Dr. Maloney’s office and a skillful visual imaging really cinched it. Perhaps my face wouldn’t be condemned for building code violations after all!
Quite honestly, I never thought of myself as particularly brave. My pain threshold is about as low to the ground as Scarlett’s belly. I have raised whining to a high art form. Never would have made it as one of our hardy pioneer women. That’s why I was pleasantly surprised, okay amazed, at how comfortable I felt during and after the full face lift. I had never felt the awful pain I anticipated. Dr. Maloney promised me I wouldn’t, and he was right. I did feel ache, much like the kind I’ve experienced after a strenuous day of gardening, but that was temporary.
To anyone out there contemplating the big step of cosmetic surgery, I can only say, “Go for it!” I had hoped to regain perhaps five years of aging time. Friends and relatives concur that it’s more like fifteen. This means a great deal to someone who had felt resigned to being on the “downhill run” and had pretty much given up on the idea of ever feeling, let alone looking attractive again. Sorry Scarlett, we no longer look like we came from the same litter, but the “baggies” look much better on you!
In grateful appreciation,
