It’s a tragic fact of life that the slower we get, the faster we need to be to catch the fountains of youth. Whatever they happen to be in the modern age.
I began to worry about aging during my mid-life crisis.
At the ripe old age of 36. Never mind that if that was truly mid-life, I should be gone soon. And I’m not planning on leaving the planet yet. Also, my concern was about not getting everything done in life I wanted to do. Like, I’d forgotten to have a baby. And there were a couple of books I wanted to write. Little things. I still haven’t written the books, but hoping several hundred articles counts. The baby is twenty-seven. It wasn’t about looks, yet.
I had plastic surgery at that time, to build up the receding chin I was born with. Not to chase youth.
Except, in the doctor’s office, he convinced me to let him implant larger cheek bones, too. He said it would forestall a facelift by at least ten years.We were bartering for my marketing services, so I decided, “What the hell?” It wasn’t costing me any actual money, and I never planned on getting a face lift anyway. Never say never.
Am I vain? Oh hell yeah. Is it pathological? I don’t think so. And as a therapist who has had lots of therapy, I get to decide that. What I am, is someone who wants to look as much on the outside as I feel on the inside. Don’t we all?
Only, on the inside, I still look 36 with a new chin and cheekbones. And I didn’t even realize how much the outside didn’t match, until Zoom meetings and virtual counseling became de riguer. 2020, along with all it’s other B.S., showed us all what we really look like. On a daily basis. So. Much. Fun.
Still, I had never considered any more plastic surgery. Recovery hurts, especially since the Doc threw in a little liposuction under the chin. Which Ididn’t need at 36, but I guess it turned out okay. Except for the six weeks of recovery, and the deep muscular pain. Lipo sucks.
You would think I’d have learned my lesson. Right? Wrong.
Medicare pays for blephoplasty. For reasons known only to evolution, as we age, our eyelids wrinkle and droop. If we want to reverse that, and if we’re “lucky” enough to have it obstruct our vision, Medicare pays for the eye lift.
On a whim, I asked my opthomalogist during the annual eye exam if I qualified. He sent me to a specialist to find out.
I was amazed at how my vision actually was impacted. I had just been hoping to skim by on the qualifications to get my eye lift, which by now I wanted for vain, cosmetic reasons. Turns out I “passed” the test with blinking colors. Blinking colors is how they check your range of vision.
Then came the consultation. The eye lift was “free,” right? So he suggested he throw in a temporary neck lift, for a measly $3,500. Yes, even as I type “temporary face lift” I realize how ridiculous that sounds. All surgery is, by definition of it being performed on mortals, temporary. Worse, why would I go through all that pain for something that lasts five years?
Have I mentioned I’m a sucker for the up sale? I did it, of course. It’s called many things: The Lifestyle Lift, Elevate, threading. It’s less invasive than a neck lift, which is really a lower face lift, called a much more scary name, rhytidectomy.
The eye lift went beautifully. Bonus, I can actually see better.
The neck? Not so much. Turns out, threading isn’t recommended for people older than 40s or 50s, according to the second opinion I sought out after the fact. After that, there’s only so much skin thread can hold up. So while you can at least now see that I have an actual jaw line, my neck looks worse than it did before. Sigh.
What’s next? I’ll keep you posted. The Doc wants to fix how the neck turned out. He says I’m his “walking billboard.”
We’ll see. It’s two more weeks of down time, some more money, but, with luck, and the doctor’s steady hand, the end of the surgery journey I didn’t set out to take in the first place. Rhytidectomy is supposed to be permanent as opposed to temporary.
Again, all surgery performed on mortals is temporary. But, with intervention from family and friends, I should never undergo elective surgery again. Long live the neck.