A Cautionary Tale

I was in Cosmetic Surgery this morning buying a tube of face cream - (mesoestetic hydra-vital factor K) - and having the usual fun chat with the surgeon -
He says: "Botox would fix those frown lines on your forehead"
I say: "No thanks"
He says: "I would recommend filler in your top lip."
"No thanks"
"Non-surgical lifting and tightening?"
"No thank you, I'm here only for the face cream"
Then the telephone rings. The nurse answers. I try not to eavesdrop but the woman's voice is hysterical and after a few terse questions and answers:
Nurse: "Of course its not permanent, Madam."
Woman: "How do you know it's not permanent?"
Nurse: " It cost only BD150. It will not be permanent at that price."
The hysterical woman had been for some filler in her lips but had decided it wasn't enough - it was too natural looking - and had gone somewhere else for a 'top up' and now had lips like....

Ten Minute Tingling?

It's now almost 24 hours since my laser skin resurfacing treatment. And finally the terrible pain in my face is starting to subside. I've had three short cat naps in 24 hours, the rest of the time I've been reading Georgette Heyer, eating Mars Bars and holding icepacks to my cheeks. I tried sleeping under an AC fan, and standing in a cold shower but neither worked to cool the burning. Nick suggested painkillers but I couldn't find any in the house, then he suggested strong drink and tempted though I was to self-medicate with a long cool Gin and Tonic I resisted incase the urge was too great to throw it over the burning skin as opposed to throwing it straight down my throat.
Now the skin is still tender to touch but the furious redness has faded and I'm covered in brown freckle- like spots. I gleam with the grease of two creams - antibiotic and hydrocortisone. The doctor most certainly knew what he was talking about when he advised I choose an evening on the eve of the weekend to have the treatment done. But I think he might have been somewhat cavalier with his assurances that the 'tingling' would abate after only ten minutes.

Suffering to be Beautiful

The laser skin resurfacing treatment took about 20 minutes. I lay on a table in my everyday clothes; gauze was placed over my eyes. The laser machine made 'put put' noises - it sounded a bit like a cap gun. There was a disgusting smell of flesh burning but it wasn't particuarly painful - a nurse cooled each area with ice, after the doctor had finished with it. I tried to relax and think beautiful thoughts about never having to wear heavy duty foundation again.
Then the doctor said: "I'm going to up the ante on the acne scars," or words to that effect. The gentle 'put put' noise disappeared, instead my cheeks were strafed with molten machine gun fire. Even through the gauze I could see the flare of the laser - it was very, very painful. So painful my life flashed in front of my eyes - hugging my husband, the children holding my hand, and how it feels like flying when you jump a horse very high...
The gauze was removed, the procedure was finished. With effort I opened my eyes. I resisted the impulse to say "I can't believe I'm not dead!"
The doctor gave me four tubes of cream with instructions how to use them.
"The tingling will last for ten minutes," he told me. Then it was time to go home.

Soft Focus

I asked Flor to take a photograph of me before I went for my laser skin resurfacing treatment. I'd hoped this would be the last photograph taken of my face with acne scars. But the poor child was so worried something would go horribly wrong and the doctor would leave me deformed her hands were shaking as she held the camera; this is the charming result.

Laser

I've always hated the skin on my face - it's covered in acne scars.
Once, when I was moderately famous, I went on TV for some book thing and a clever clever make-up artist spent an hour painting in the pock marks - she left my skin flawless - I didn't wash off the make-up for two days.
I was so inspired I flirted with dermabrasion and chemical peels but twenty years ago these were major operations, with a hospital stay, and bandages like the Invisible Man. I resigned myself to bad skin forever...
Until this morning when I had a consultation with Dr. G who suggested I pop in next Thursday for a Fraxel laser skin rejuvenation treatment. He says it will take half an hour. My face will be red for a day afterwards, then covered in little brown dots for two days, then the dots will wash off and I'll have much smoother skin. I'll apply special creams for a month and hey presto - a beautiful complexion....

Mutton Dressed as Lamb

As they say in the States - here's the thing...
I've been given this pretty top by my friend who was given this pretty top by her friend who was given this pretty top by her cousin. My friend won't wear it because she has a spotty back, her friend tried it on for her husband and he burst out laughing so she won't wear it; don't know why the cousin won't wear it...
I'm perfectly happy to wear it, in the privacy of my bedroom, but before I slap on some make-up and venture out into the world I need to know - is it too young for me? Afterall I'm on the 'wrong' side of 40 and my boobs have breastfed four children.
Perhaps I should wear a nice cardigan over it?

Un Jardin Sur Le Nil

I was killing time this morning in an air conditioned perfume shop, picking up and setting down pretty bottles, but not even bothering to sniff, for I'm not a perfume person and floral fragrances make me sneeze.
My eye was caught by this bottle of Un Jardin Sur Le Nil and I squirted some on to my arm, out of curiosity. The top notes made my eyes water - they were vicious, like poison gas. However, five minutes later, I was wearing the most elegant scent - sexy, subtle, unforgettable. I couldn't stop sniffing my arm.
I've always heard it said you can't judge a book by its cover - I would like to add you most certainly can't judge a perfume by its topnotes.

Cautionary Tale

Do you see the scar on my face, running from nostril to lip? That's a cancer scar, from when I had a Basal Cell Carcinoma cut out of my face. It's not that I ever sunbathed - I'm far too scared of wrinkles, but I didn't use sunblock either, not even a moisturiser with an SPF.
Five years ago I grew a pimple on the side of my nose. It looked like a little Rice Krispie, I thought it was a wart. I only went to the doctor to get it removed for cosmetic reasons. Once the biopsy results were confirmed I was taken to theatre and a big hole was cut out of the side of my face to cut away the spreading cancer. They told me I was lucky, the cancer was spreading down my face. Unlucky would be if was spreading up my nose and into my brain...
I learnt to live with the scar until I went for a mesotherapy facial. To quote: The MesoGlow treatment infuses the dermis layer under the skin with anti-oxidants, vitamins, minerals and aminoacids to nourish and rejuvenate. This will promote production of collagen and elastin and will stimulate the metabolism.I thought it very effective after only one session - the age lines on my face were most decidedly 'plumped out'. Unfortunately the scar did not plump. In fact it's the only time I ever really noticed it.

Gym

There's no music at gym, because of Ramadan. Actually, there's nobody at the gym, except me, for everybody else is fasting. So I took my husband's ipod and went for a run to Nirvana who are not my usual cup of tea, I'm more of a James Blunt girlie. Except I can run forever to Smells Like Teen Spirit, and Come As You Are, and Lithium... Soon I had five miles run and I was bursting with energy.

Moustache

The foot scrubbing lady from the previous post persuaded me to have my eyebrows threaded. Then she said, "I will remove your moustache."
What moustache?
"Madam has a moustache."
I'm a Celtic red head. There's hardly a hair on my body, and what's there is fine and fair - the waxing woman charges me less than everybody else. If I have hair above my upper lip (I cannot write 'a moustache') it is also fine and fair.
"No thanks."
She's insistent. "Madam has a moustache."
Of course doubt begins to seep in. Maybe there is a moustache and I haven't noticed it - is that possible? Maybe it's only a few stray blond hairs...
"All right, then, thread the moustache," I say.
The tartlets wake me this morning and the oldest one says "What's wrong with your face, Mummy?"
I dash to the mirror to discover, to my horror, a rash on my upper lip, where my 'moustache' was wrenched out by the threading lady.
Now I really do have a moustache.
And the added worry that when the hair starts to grow back it will be a bristle.