“I'm a glutton for punishment, so i'll get some more botox.”

Several years ago, as a present to myself for surviving another year of teaching, I got Botox. I was quite excited anticipating a youthful forehead and eye area, and looking forward to the smoothness of my porcelain-like skin. (My skin is not porcelain-like, but when I fantasize, it is)

I made the appointment, and when I arrived, I was taken to a very lovely, plush treatment room. This was not a Dr.'s office, but a "day spa". Enya was playing over the speakers, and that immediately makes me cramp up because Enya was the only CD I took with me to the hospital when I had my 2nd child. We thought it would go fast, but it took over 24 hours of labor. I hate Enya.

My Dr. walked in. I assumed he was "my" Dr., although I'd never met the person before. He was accompanied by an assistant. I don't know what sort of medical training she had. I was sitting on the treatment table, and the elderly man tottered up to me, peered through his bifocals at my forehead and then grabbed my chin. He twisted my head this way and that and muttered to himself. The assistant scribbled away on a chart furiously. I cannot to this day imagine what she was writing. Perhaps her grocery list. I thought, rather stupidly, that the Dr. would you know..."consult" with me prior to deciding how much Botox to use and where to use it. But no. No, that was not to be. He turned his back to me for a moment, and in a move belying his advanced age, he whipped around with a hypodermic syringe held up triumphantly in his gloved hand.

Before I could react, he grabbed my chin once more, and this time he jabbed the needle in my forehead. Hard. Right in the middle. Then, he did it several more times in other areas of my forehead. Then, he moved on to the area under and to the side of my eye sockets. Jab, jab, jab. It was soothing and pleasant in that room with Enya warbling and the crazed Dr. jabbing me with Botulism toxin. I was not warned that the shot was coming, I was not asked what areas I was concerned about, and I was given no ice pack or anything to put on my face directly after the injections.

As a result, I woke up the next day with ugly bruising around my eyes and between my eyes on my forehead. I attempted to cover the bruising with makeup, but it showed through. I attempted to convince everyone that my husband was not fed up with me and beating me. How do you explain horrible bruising? You tell the truth. "I got Botox and the insane Dr. just jabbed me like a pin cushion!" So, everyone knew that I got Botox. My vanity was exposed for all to see, which is fine with me as long as my vanity isn't fat or wrinkled.

A couple of days later, the bruising faded, and since I didn't have very deep wrinkles, the outcome was minimal. I could tell the difference. It was like a mini eye lift or something. It didn't work at all on my forehead between my eyes. You know those pesky vertical lines we get between our eyes from squinting? Those. Those stayed put. However, my eyes looked fresher and well-rested. It was subtle, but noticeable enough for me to find it worth the price. I will not go to the same place for another round of poison. I will do my research and homework first, this time.

After the initial bruising, there was no pain and no side effects associated with the injections. I had no problems whatsoever, and as it wore off, it happened gradually so that it wasn't really noticeable to others. Since I scrutinize myself in a magnifying mirror daily, I noticed it. Others, however, did not. I am at an age where I can still "fight" visible signs of age. As long as I can, I probably will. When I am older, God willing, I will probably leave it all alone and be a crazy, wrinkled wild-haired old lady just for fun. However for now, Botox is worth it to me.

Next stop: Restylane! Juvederm!