Tag Archives: Browlift

Cosmetic Surgery – Before and After

Part 1:

Prior to the onset of  COVID-19 and the advice to cancel elective surgeries, I had a facelift. There were many reasons for choosing cosmetic surgery, but at the forefront were my interactions with the public, and the desire to feel better about myself. Due to weight loss, the droopy saggy countenance that was reflected in the mirror, and in photos, didn’t match my youthful insides. I’m active and go to the gym. I wanted my face to match my joyful insides, and I felt cosmetic surgery could help me achieve that.  

Since I travel to fairs and festivals doing Tarot readings for the public, and have authored a memoir, my life has become much more public. My book, That’s Why You’re Here, requires that I do speaking engagements to promote it. To reach clients out of the area, I’m on FaceTime and Skype to deliver Tarot Readings. I talk to others about deserving good things, and it became clear, it was time to invest in myself and to put my best face forward.  

Cosmetic Surgery - Before And After

Once I researched, had my consultation, and had scheduled the cosmetic surgery, I contacted my talented friend, Erica Jabali. She owns and operates a fabulous website called I Spy Fabulous. The site is filled with wonderful tips and ideas regarding beauty, family, career, shopping, and so much more. 

I sought out Erica to see if she would be interested in collaborating in telling the story of my cosmetic surgery, the before and after. I believed our readers would want to hear, first hand, what the experience was like. Erica agreed, and was onboard immediately.

I’m excited to have you read and see the results of our collaboration, and for you to walk this cosmetic surgery journey. If you’re considering surgery, may you find the series helpful. 

Pop on over to Erica’s blog for a more pictures and to read Part 1: Why I Got a Facelift. 

Facelift Folly

Have you ever contemplated plastic surgery? I have. I’ve reached the “wisdom” stage in life, and this sage knows the “e” has fallen off, leaving behind a shriveled sag. The condition is evidenced by a drooping neck that appears to have been tugged repeatedly by an impatient toddler. I’m not talking a mere double-chin, I’m talking a flap that functions as a bib.  

Hoping to erase decades, I did what other wise-women have done––I called a surgeon.

The Day of my Facelift Appointment:

On the day of my appointment, I entered an opulent office hidden within a strip-mall. A chandelier shimmered, expensive artwork adorned the walls, and a fountain bubbled. Everything dripped money. My hand shook as I signed in. I waited and listened. No tortured screams drifted from the rear, so I relaxed some. (Watching Botched the previous night hadn’t been prudent.)  

A door opened, and a taut-necked older woman ushered me into a tastefully decorated room. A white-coated doctor introduced himself and sat me on a stool in front of an oversized silver-framed mirror. He stood behind me and said, “Now for my assessment.” He placed his practiced hands on either side of my neck, and pulled the skin back as if reining in a frightened horse. He shook his head and clicked his tongue. “This won’t do it. The neck won’t be enough. You need a full facelift.” 

I knew it was bad, but not this bad. The doctor proceeded to stretch my cheeks towards my ears. A mole, once centered on my cheek, now rested on my earlobe. With one tense squeeze, the doctor had fashioned a new stud earring. I admired the look, but then he let go. My mole, like a bug, crawled back into place.     

The surgeon said, as he spread them like wings, “If you want to lose the jowls, then a facelift is mandatory.” 

I stared at my jowls and wondered how I’d transitioned into a portly English gentleman. Was gout next?

But the doctor wasn’t finished. He positioned fingers to my forehead and lifted toward my hairline. “A brow lift is also recommended.” My expression shot past deer caught in the headlights to parent caught having sex by a curious kid. 

The surgeon released my forehead and my brows sank into my sockets. “See my assistant for a price sheet,” he said. The exam was, like the movie: Gone In 60 Seconds.  

Once I got in the car, I opened the estimate. My brows lifted in horror. (One less procedure.) This sag/e pondered cheaper facelift options, and it didn’t take a prophet to see––it was turtlenecks and duct tape for me.