I’m embarrassed to tell you that I used to love to look at myself in the mirror. I don’t anymore. I try to divert my gaze whenever I can. When I have to look to put on my makeup or do my hair, I see my mother. I don’t recognize myself. I feel good and can hardly believe that I am approaching the big Five-Oh! I exercise four times a week, treadmill, Pilates and light weights. My body looks good. But my eyes! Everybody asks me if I’m tired all the time. No matter how well rested I am, no matter how happy, I know I look unhappy because of the hanging skin over my eyes and the suitcases below.
I’ve thought about plastic surgery for almost ten years, I guess. But, I’m scared. I’ve heard all the horror stories, and my husband is very much against it. I suppose I should be flattered that he thinks I look great, and I believe him. But, he sees me through different eyes. I can’t avoid the reality that I’m not pretty or young any more. Besides, his credibility on the subject is compromised by the fact that he had hair transplantation two years ago. What’s good for the goose…?
Furthermore, my baby is getting married in October. Am I wrong to want to look good in front of everyone? I know I’m not the bride, but I am the mother of the bride!
Dr. Glassman tells me I’m a good candidate. Does he tell that to everyone?
If I had known how easy it was going to be, I would have done it years ago. Utterly painless. I looked better in one week and much better in two. My expression hasn’t changed at all, and I don’t look artificial. My greatest fears were not realized. Don’t get me wrong. When I looked at myself the day after with the bruises and stitches, I had a few moments of asking myself what had I done.
And my husband… my husband has been all over me! He thinks I look like I did when he met me. I look at myself in the mirror now. With different eyes. Not just the way they look, but also the way they see me.
My friends all tell me that I look great and that I didn’t need it in the first place. They’re lying. Two have already asked me for Dr. Glassman’s name and number. Some, to my amazement, haven’t even noticed which both pleases me and displeases me. How could they not see?
My daughter’s wedding? My eyes didn’t mean a thing except to see the love in her eyes and the joy on her face. Besides, I was crying most of the time, anyway. That kind of puffiness I wouldn’t give up…ever.