Okay, so it wasn’t technically plastic surgery,
but it fell under that category when it came to insurance, and I find it
hilarious to tell people that I got plastic surgery, because their first
reaction is always shock and they wrack their brains to see what part of me has
been altered.
I can’t remember what the actual procedure is called. But,
basically, I took a laser to the chin to get rid of pretty big acne scars I’d
had since high school. (Sometimes I see pictures of myself from high school
with the zits that caused those scars, and I dramatically point to the picture
and go, “You.” to the zit.)
Here’s what was different about my acne scars: the majority of
people have acne scars that are indents/divots into their skin. Mine, however,
are not-so-little bumps. Thankfully, those scars are only located on my chin,
and not everywhere. So, this laser treatment would zap those bumps in hopes of
flattening them.
So, after a couple of preparation doctors appointments, it was
time to go forth with the laser treatment.
I plopped down in the chair. It was similar to a dental chair.
They leaned the chair back so that I was basically laying down flat, covered my
eyes with some dark goggle type things, and began zapping my chin.
It definitely hurt. Part of it was because I’m a redhead. The gene
that comes with being a redhead includes being more resistant towards numbing medicine
(such as epidurals). The doctor forgot to take this into account, and gave me
the normal amount of the numbing medication. After expressing pain and wincing
multiple times, she said, “Oh! Oh my gosh, I’m sorry. You’re a redhead. I forgot
that I have to give my redheaded patients a double dose.”
She injected my chin with more medicine and was able to finish the
procedure with me being pain-free.
What came next, I documented on my Instagram story . . . and I’m
so grateful I did. Because it captures it in a way that my words never could.
So, without further ado, please enjoy the next 12 hours following
my procedure.
So, what happened next?
I drove to my apartment, still crying. I parked, hid in my car for
probably 20 minutes, and sprinted into my apartment (still crying) where I promptly
took a nap.
I woke up when it was dark. Keep in mind, this was summertime, so
it got dark pretty late. I had slept a long
time.
. . . I had also bled all over my pillowcase.
I looked at my chin to see it puffy and crusted with dry blood.
And, wouldn’t you guess it, I started crying again.
Not as hard, though. So . . . that’s good, right?
It was time for my nightly cleaning of my new injury. Cleaning
included soaking it with a vinegar-soaked cotton ball for 15 minutes, followed
by rubbing it with a liquid steroid, an ointment used for diaper rashes, Vaseline
and, lastly, taking two antibiotics. This would be part of my nightly routine
for about the next two weeks.
I had transferred my vinegar-mixed-with-water concoction into a water
bottle, which I dunked my cotton ball in. I plopped down on the couch, placed
the now-soaked cotton ball on my bloody chin and watched TV with my roommates
as I snacked on a Texas Roadhouse roll.
My chin was still aching, but at least I had my roll.
Then. This happened.
In case you didn’t catch that, I drank my vinegar soak. Yup. Took
a big, ol’ sib. And promptly spat it out onto my leggings.
I bet you can guess what I did next.
Yup. I cried. Again.
But, I’m still grateful I didn’t spit it out on my Texas Roadhouse
rolls.
The next day, my chin looked better. It had stopped bleeding and
was beginning to heal. Each day, it got better and better, though my chin
remained an angry red for quite some time (and, to this day, the skin on my
chin is still a ting pinker than the rest of my face. Thank goodness for makeup).
Two weeks later, I was back at the doctors, sitting up in the all-too
familiar dental-like chair.
The appointment was earlier in the morning. Now, at this time in
my life, I didn’t have a job or school going on. This, combined with the fact
that I am not a morning person, meant
I got up late and was running behind.
I legit threw on some basketball shorts, wore the shirt I wore to
bed, brushed my hair and teeth, slid into some flip-flops and ran out the door
with my mom, who was accompanying me to the doctors.
So, there I was, back at the doctors, sitting up in the dental-like
chair as my doctor held my face and got extremely close to check out my acne
scars.
“Hmmm, looks like we’ve missed a few spots,” she said.
My heart began to race. I was still recovering from the first
time! There’s no way I could do this again!
“We’re just going to do some touch ups; we won’t do the whole procedure,”
she reassured me. Honestly, she could probably see the fear on my face. I am terrible at hiding my emotions.
I remained sitting up, and she took a small laser to my face. I
didn’t need to back up or cover my eyes this time. She numbed part of my chin
(this time using twice the amount to begin with), and this time, as opposed to
lasering my whole chin, she targeted specific spots.
Now . . . I was expecting this appointment to go by quickly. I
thought I’d be in and out in no time. It was supposed to be just a check up,
not a touch up.
Which is exactly what I told myself when I left my house without
eating anything for breakfast.
Guess what. Me + pain =
Yup.
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII passed out. I had caught myself in time,
however. I could tell it was going to happen because of how sick and
lightheaded I began to feel.
“Stop,” I said, reaching my hand out. “I didn’t eat breakfast. I’m
either going to throw up or pass out.”
I leaned forward to put my head in my lap, but my dermatologist
said, “No, I need you to lean back.”
And I did.
And that’s the last thing I remember.
I was walking in the woods in the dark. Character's from the Walking
Dead were all around me. I turned, and saw Negan – the character that my celebrity
crush plays. He smiled at me and said,
There was a loud, buzzing sound. That was the sound the chair
moved when it was being tipped backwards. I was starting to come back to. The
chair was leaned back almost all the way. I wasn’t just flat on my back; my
legs were slightly higher than my head so that blood could get to my head.
Time seemed to move by in slow motion. It seemed like my chair was
tipping back for an eternity.
I don’t know how long it had been before I spoke. I’m sure it’s not
as long it felt. But, I finally said, “Did I pass out?”
“Yes,” my doctor said. “How are you feeling?”
“I might throw up,” I said, my eyes remaining closed.
“I’ll go get her a bucket,” said the nurse.
I heard her walking, then the door open and close.
“I dreamed about Negan,” I moaned to the doctor.
I’m sure she had no idea who I was talking about.
“You were only out for 20 seconds,” she said.
“Well he said hi to me,” I said.
“Well, I guess you did snore,”
she said.
“Somehow that’s more embarrassing to me than the actual passing
out.”
The nurse came back. I heard her place a bucket on the ground and
said, “I have some juice and crackers for you when you’re done.”
“Thank you,” I replied.
They went back to zapping my chin. I began to feel a little bit
better, but I didn’t dare open my eyes.
“I’m surprised you’re not totally freaking out. If my mom were
here, she’d be in a total panic,” the nurse said, directing the question to my
mom, who was sitting at the side of the room.
“Oh. Well, we do this. I pass out all the time, her sister has
passed out. It’s just something we do,” she replied.
And it’s true. Maybe this is just part of being initiated into the
family. My dad and one of my sisters are next.
A few minutes later, the doctor was done.
“Okay, we’re all done,” she said, and I cracked my eyes open to be
greeted by the bright, florescent lights.
She rolled her chair back to her computer and said, “Come back in
a couple weeks for another check-up. You can make that appointment up front,
but don’t sit up yet. You’re still looking quite pale.”
“I’m always pale,” I mumbled.
“Well, you’re really pale,”
she responded.
I always know that, if you can tell I’m pale, then I’m obviously
not doing well. So, I trusted her and remained laying back.
“I’m going to Africa in a couple weeks,” I explained. “Should I
make the appointment before or after?”
She got really excited as she had recently returned back from a
trip to Rwanda, the country I was going to.
“Don’t worry about an appointment until you get back from Africa.
Just make sure to always wear
sunscreen, especially on your chin. I do not
want to see you with a tan when you come back!” she said.
“Deal.”
A few minutes later, I felt back to normal aside from a little bit
nauseous. I drank my juice, ate a few crackers, set up an appointment and left
with my mom feeling mortified that I had snored when I passed out.
Let’s fast forward to after my trip to Rwanda. It was a final
check up to see how I was healing and see if any more touch ups needed to be
done.
I sat back in the familiar dental-like chair. This time, I had
eaten.
My dermatologist walked in, and a huge smile came across her face
and she exclaimed,
I was proud of myself, too.
ANYway. Everything had healed properly and was back to normal. The
acne scars I was so self-conscious about remained, but they weren’t nearly as noticeable
as before. And, they’re easier to cover with makeup now.
Am I glad I did it? Yes. Would I do it again? Probably not.
And that, my friends, is the story of the time I (kind of, but not really) got plastic surgery.
Have an awkward day.
(This was taken a week apart)
Wow, cool post. I'd like to write like this too - taking time and real hard work to make a great article... but I put things off too much and never seem to get started. Thanks though. alper mete uğurlu
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