2 Week Diary of a Lower Face/neck Lift & Platysmaplasty at Age 59 and a Half - London, GB

I was encouraged to upload this but apologies as...

I was encouraged to upload this but apologies as it's a bit lengthy. I hope it's useful to anyone considering facial surgery. First I want to say that after reading his website and then meeting him, I knew Dominic was the surgeon for me. Using no general anaesthetic, no hospital stay and producing a very natural fresh look resonated with me; I was willing to trust him with my future appearance. Now four weeks post op, I'm delighted at the change despite still being a little swollen and numb on the sides of my face and a little lumpy under my chin. I know this will go completely in the next couple of months. Recovery has been unbelievable, much better than I expected, and which I firmly believe is down to the way he performs surgery. He and his staff are incredibly professional, friendly and caring and nothing appears to faze them. Here goes the diary.... Ground zero It's been five months since I called to make an initial appointment, but here I am and it's finally surgery day. Strangely there's no hint of nerves as I sit in the waiting room with my husband, I feel so calm, it must be last night's diazepam. Dominic comes in and greets me like an old friend, which is very reassuring as I've only met him briefly a couple of times. Down in the consulting room I put on the gown and not so sexy surgical stockings, but I'm not feeling as if I'm about to undergo surgery which in itself is quite surreal. Today I'm having a lower face lift, a neck lift and platysmaplasty. Only vaguely aware of the port which has just been put in my hand, I sit in the magic chair with a blanket over me, warm and snuggly. I don't remember being put out but I sleep. I'm asked twice to smile during the procedure, which I do but am unaware of any sensation other than being warm, fuzzy and sleepy. I later awake feeling pleasantly relaxed and a little unsteady. I change back into my clothes and with scarf wrapped around my head, I make my way somewhat haphazardly to the hotel where I have been booked to stay the night. I climb into bed with my soon to be faithful companion - the ice pack. Dozing on and off I chat, I change the ice pack from side to side and doze some more. There's no pain or discomfort thanks to the anaesthetic and ice. Dominic (hereinafter known as The Man) visits to check his patient is behaving and that nothing untoward has happened since departure from surgery this morning. So here I am, propped up on my many expertly arranged pillows (The Man's expertise - not mine) feeling like an effigy on a sarcophagus, unmoving, whilst the husband and the sister enjoy their dinner. Errrmmmm - now feeling nauseous guys! The sister eventually departs and the husband, ever solicitous, falls asleep snoring softly. I make an attempt at sleep, but sitting up - urghhh. I like to be flat on my back with arms flung above head, which at this stage is an impossibility due to the fat, swollen neck. Day 1 Friday Eventually I sleep for around four hours. Somewhere during the early morning as the dawn chorus can be heard, I recall embarrassing things I said whilst under the influence - oh god - I have to apologise! Now I really need to rid myself of this nausea so I order a banana milkshake. Thankfully the husband takes this from the waiter at the door to save scaring the poor man. I can just about prise my jaws wide enough to slip the straw in. Next hurdle is the toothbrush - tiny though it is, I have to fight to get it in and then out again - hoping I don't do any damage. I have no pain, just discomfort from the swelling, for which I take the paracetamol included in my meds pack. Headscarf once again in place we walk back to the consulting rooms where Bex gently washes my hair and dries it. It's not the best look ever but at this point I don't really care. I think I apologise to The Man for my embarrassing moments and try to have a normal conversation. Somehow words elude my efforts to find them, I babble ridiculously and probably end up embarrassing myself even more. I am however, grateful for the anti nausea pill which works almost instantaneously. The dreaded one day pics are taken and am amazed at my profile, less than 24 hours after - no turkey wattle and no jowls!!! On the downside I look like I'm the woman in the moon having a totally spherical face with a huge swollen goitre on the side of her neck... oh yes - that and the caked blood around and in the ears which despite the hair wash still remains. I'm packed off home after being assured that all went well, that all looks good and being fitted with a medium cup unattractive nude facial bra/compression garment. As an aside, I'd like to note that nude is still highly visible and definitely has more than a whiff of surgical about it, so please, powers that be, can't we have a rainbow assortment to choose from such as navy or green or perhaps purple to blend in with the bruising, maybe something floral? I snooze for most of my journey and dive into bed and hide from the world, clutching my ice pack as a lifeline. Feeling as if my face is slowly inflating, I fleetingly wonder why I've subjected myself to this. Eventually I manage to nibble, rabbit like, my banana and even stare at the tv. Whoopee. Banning anyone from seeing me, I hibernate until thankfully the husband returns and we have dinner - or in my case runny porridge. Again propped up NHS style, sleep is transient but not for said husband, although my rattling ice pack wakes him several times. Day 2 Saturday I try to resume normal life until my body defeats me (duh, anaesthetic in body still) and eventually I succumb to the duvet and to my book, although now my eyesight is so bad I need to find some glasses to read with! Note to self - ask The Man what he's done to my eyes. I tell myself that once through the weekend things will start to get better. The Man was right - I might just be starting to dislike him a little for doing this to me! It's then when taking the daily photos that I realise that my ears and ear lobes have swollen so much that I now resemble a pixie - all I need is the hat! The daughter who is v squeamish arrives to view the patient. She doesn't wish to talk about anything to do with this experience and sits on the sofa weak kneed and light headed. She doesn't even offer to make me lunch, she does however say the right things so I excuse her. Doze, ice, ice, doze. It's evening and again sleep is determined to come in snatches which is made worse by the restless husband whose indigestion doesn't help matters. In the end I grab my many pillows and storm off to another bedroom in the hope that at least one of us might gain some advantage, although my temporary sleeping arrangement doesn't have the desired effect. I find myself on my phone researching random things that whizz through my brain in the small hours. So much for sleep! Ice, ice, ice and more ice I was told and that is what I do as it numbs the swollen bits. Countless bags of ice later I've run out!!! It's 4.30am and the husband next door is not yet awake - and the shops not yet open, I'm having withdrawal symptoms! Day 3 Sunday I wake the husband early on the pretext of missing him and he soon takes the hint as I jiggle my now liquid ice pack. Like an addict, the relief at receiving my supplies is immeasurable. Iced up again, my previous determination to get back to normal as soon as possible reasserts itself. I can't wait to wash my hair, which I do very tentatively. I can't do a proper blow dry but it's still better than it was. I attempt to conceal my bruising and put make up on; I'm reasonably pleased with my efforts and am delighted at the difference The Man has made. Plus I actually look like a human being now. This is a good time to observe that this banana milkshake and porridge diet is working a treat - I've lost a kilo. Bring it on! I find that most pressing question of this day, which I actually ask The Man, is whether my face will actually go off pop if it swells any further. He doesn't really answer that one so I'm still left to wonder if this could ever be a possibility.... don't say it! He is however (what I take to be) very complimentary about the after shower/hair wash photo. This gives me a boost despite the pixie look and the fact the pic was taken at a flattering angle, oh, and that he's really talking about his handiwork! After some more text banter with him (nothing inappropriate), I muse that I might be slightly falling in love with the fact that he's not your typical surgeon and he's such a nice, caring guy. Feeling once again able to take on the world, I break the news to the wider family and friends via what's app about my facial surgery. Many conversations later, both typed and on calls, I resort to napping on the sofa as all this typing and talking has worn me out, but I'm definitely feeling more normal than yesterday. Tonight I'm back in my temporary bed and am really quite happy although the crestfallen look on the husband's face tells a different story. This time I get whole seven hours sleep and feel so much better for it, #vindicated. Day 4 Monday I've cleared my diary pretty much for this week, but I've got a conference call. Aside from a few grunts I don't really get involved. I've scaled the heights to the office (one floor up) where the sun beats in, it's hot and I immediately feel light headed. So much for work, I make my apologies and descend to lay on the bed and apply yet more ice. Ice, doze, ice, read, ice chat on the phone, ice, doze again, ice, ice and more ice as per previous days. I can't work out if it makes a difference but is great as a relief to the discomfort of the swelling. Numb is good! The facial bra - I hate it! It digs in under my swollen ears where it irritates the stitches and my neck is now feeling so tender that the edges of it feel like they're burning my skin. I'd like to say that I'm allergic to it, but I know I'm not. The Man says it's better to be comfortable, so I discard it until further instruction. I visit a friend has just moved in down the road from my house. My first trip I walk there, but she's popped out so I chat to the builder until it's obvious she's going to be out for a while. Instead I walk back and drive the car for the first time since the op. I visit the local petrol station supermarket where amongst other things I buy yet more bananas, oats and ice. I drive round to see girlfriend. I enthuse over her house, she enthuses over my face, fair trade. She's lovely, so positive and effusive I bravely suggest that my evening card game arrangement remain and that we play chez moi. I put on eye makeup and my hair is scraped back, let 'em see me au natural -ish. The reactions are great, 'OMG, amazing, I'm jell and I really want your surgeon's name' that I know I've chosen the right guy to 'do' me. . I throw the girls out at 10.30pm as I'm tired, it is only 4 days post op after all. Once back in my temporary abode I realise my ears are coming back to life and have that 'half numb but with some sensation' feel. This makes it uncomfortable to sleep and is what wakes me frequently during the night. I also have waves of a slightly fluttery sensation wafting up and down the side of my face by my ears. I start to wonder if this more fluid building up and if indeed I will achieve the aforementioned bursting point. I definitely don't forget to ice! Day 5 Tuesday What is the likelihood of needing to visit the dentist during this week of clenched jawness? My tooth hurts. The good news is this pain takes my mind off my very tight, lumpy neck, particularly the lymph node on the right. Ice, ice, ice. However I think the swelling is finally decreasing a bit so it must be working - and I didn't go off pop! My lady wot does asks if I feel better after my Friday afternoon hibernation whereupon I show her the reason I was hiding. She high five's me and laughs excitedly. I think she's impressed??? Anyway I ask her to check if my ears are clear at which point she marches off to get the cotton buds so I know my cleaning attempts have been futile. My daughter in law drops off my two year old grandson to look after me for the day. She thinks it's all looking great despite the swelling and has has been very supportive of my decision - admittedly she only knew two days before I actually had the procedure. Two year old takes me to feed carrots to the horses down the road. As we make our way I have to run after him to reign in his excitement and I'm immediately tired. This from a woman who has run two half marathons, urrrrghhhhhh! Horses fed, it's time to feed him. Thankfully the husband is there to lift the solid weight into the high chair and then into his cot after. Both two year old and I take a well deserved nap before he disappears later to feed the ducks with his grandfather. I take yet another nap, how can I be so exhausted? More friendly text messages with The Man, again he's concerned that I'm not undoing his good work and is kindly complimentary which is encouraging. Mmmmmwah is all I can say!!! Once rested, we go out for dinner with friends to the local pub. No one knows, no one notices and other than choosing something from the menu that is easily slotted between my teeth and easily chewed, I feel completely normal. Well I would if it wasn't so hot in here. I'm looking slightly sweaty and mummified with the ever present scarf wound around my neck and my hair pulled forward to hide the stitches around temples and ears. Talking of ears - please let me sleep! Day 6 Wednesday I wake to find myself lying flat all the way at the bottom of the bed and am hoping this won't have an adverse effect as i was told to sleep upright. Well whatever. I'd also tried again with the bra but have ripped it off sometime during the night as my neck is still super sensitive, tight, hot, lumpy but I can see it's definitely going down. I'm getting antsy, I've done no exercise since last Wednesday and am in need of a fix - but fat chance - The Man forbade it and who am i to chafe at authority!!! Instead I wrap up and walk to meet a girlfriend for coffee. I've used concealer to hide the yellowness on the sides of my face and the purpleness of my neck but she thinks it all looks great and is very excited for me - and she's one not shy at telling the truth that's for sure! Next stop is the beautician for - well - stuff. Who knew having facial surgery could make one's nether regions so sensitive to a little waxing! Back home I try to concentrate on some correspondence but that seems beyond my abilities. Emails/bills/work can wait. Instead I check YouTube for ways to self administer MLD (manual lymphatic drainage) in the hope of speeding healing up. Not sure whether I'm doing it for long enough/well enough to make any difference to the bruising and swelling though. The Man texts to see how my neck is and I tell him of my attempt at MLD; I get the feeling he thinks I'm one sandwich short of a picnic as he books me in with Kim who is undoubtedly far more effective than I. So more ice, ice, ice instead. Out for dinner again, this time with business acquaintances - not very successful as far as I'm concerned. It's too loud, too busy, too uncomfortable. I take a walk to get some fresh air and some paracetamol for something to do and can't wait to get home. I feign a migraine but promise I'll dance on the tables next time we meet. Yeah, and my tooth still hurts. Day 7 Thursday It's a week since surgery and things are definitely on the up and up, or rather on the down and down. My weight is down, the swelling is definitely down but so is my mood, I'm groggy, feeble- brained, light headed and sweaty. Even taking a shower doesn't improve things. Maybe I've overdone things? The tightness in my jaw and neck is decreasing and I'm able to open my mouth wider which in turn means I can eat a greater range of things. This is great as today I stuff myself with peanut butter on toast and tell myself I deserve it. That and a bar of Cadbury's Dairy Milk. The big one. I pick my four year old grandson up from school and we lay on the sofa watching Toy Story and Lion King during which I cry. He's perplexed and tells me it's not real, that it's only a story. He decides to 'do cutting' with the kids scissors I've just bought him. This involves a lot of paper and then a lot more paper, after which I'm left with confetti which goes everywhere and which I don't clear up, #slob! Joy of joys, the husband brings home dinner so I don't have to cook. Vegetables!!! Real healthy vegetables how I've missed you! Don't get me wrong. I understand the principles behind the surgery regime which I was advised to follow 1 week pre op and 1 week post op, but please! We all need a bit of colour in our diet! We veg out watching tv for the rest of the evening until it's time to go our separate ways. I think absence is making our hearts grow fonder! Day 8 Friday I'm picked up by a girlfriend who drives me to see The Man. He takes my stitches out, for which I prepare with paracetamol as I'm a bit of a scaredy cat. It doesn't hurt although the ones in the ears made me squeak a bit. I'm then zapped with the laser to breakdown the lovely purple bruising around my neck. All I need are finger marks and the world would think the husband had tried to throttle me. They probably wouldn't blame him.... That done, I assume the position for the week one photos. Face on I still look like Mrs Moon but the profile pics are looking good. Plus my friendly goitre on the side of my neck has almost disappeared. There's a lot of laughter during this session, with me apologising again for yet more remembered things I'd said whilst the anaesthetic had me loose-tongued; something about a designer vagina. I mean, really?!!! On the more serious side it turns out the fluttering waves in my face are the nerves healing and not extra fluid whooshing around which I'm delighted about. Lovely PA Lucy comes in to chase us up as we're running over our allotted time and my g/f also needs to know whether to increase the parking time. As we leave, said girlfriend tells me I've kept quiet on the subject of The Man's cuteness - I think she's impressed! Anyway, he's my surgeon, hands off bitch! We peruse several shops before giving up and going for coffee, after which she takes me home. I prepare dinner for the family with the help of the daughter and the cleaner as my brief shopping trip has made me a little weary. My grandsons come over and the rest of the family arrives to play with them whilst I sprawl couch potato-like with my favourite ice pack. I'm inspected by my son who can't really understand why I elected to have surgery, but I get his approval. The rest of the family give me the thumbs up too and I'm happy. The boys sleep over and this means the four year old has ousted me from my lair so I return to my bed and to the husband who is delighted but then falls asleep. 4am and we're joined by a wriggling, kicking, elbowing four year old and at 5.45am his younger, louder, more impatient brother decides to get in on the act. At this point all of us are completely awake. Day 9 Saturday The husband is taking the four year old on a day trip on the Flying Scotsman steam train so it's all hands on deck to get everyone breakfasted, washed and dressed. I'm feeling grumpy from lack of sleep and from general fat- facedness, even so I grudgingly help. It's only once they both leave that I realise we didn't do tooth brushing. Oh well, two year old will have to do, 1 out of 2 isn't bad. After brushing I collect up the boys' toiletries and as I leave the bathroom two year old lets out a blood curdling scream. Heart racing, I run back in to find him standing by the hand shower on the bath where he's turned on the cold tap - and it's spraying him full in the face. Facelift forgotten I strip him, dry him and carry him into my room. To cheer him up we burrow under the duvet to watch cartoons until his dad arrives with fresh clothes and rescues me from yet another episode of Fireman Sam. In all this excitement I've forgotten I have a hair appointment. I phone to say I'll be there shortly when it occurs to me my neck is so tight I won't be able to tilt my head back at the backwash. Hairdresser sounds slightly bemused but says no problem. I arrive bescarfed and she leads me to the backwash where I kneel, supplicant-like, facing her. I unwind and show her the problem. She gasps and laughs nervously, scared to attempt the challenge. I coax her through it but I have to say it's not pleasant. Towel to my face, water cascading down neck and face, I'm a sodden wreck by the end. My only bit of makeup, mascara, is under my eyes, down my cheeks and looks set to be almost as long lasting as the bruising. I carefully wrap the towel around my head and sit down. The first thing she does is whip it off - cue bleeding from earlobe. Apologies, apologies and more apologies, I think she might burst into tears. Thankfully the bleeding quickly stops. She eventually finishes blow drying my hair and I walk out having pacified her and looking more presentable than I have done in over a week. Straight home for a snooze in the garden I think! Except by the time I finish my banana and cracker lunch, the clouds have gathered and it's too chilly for my delicate constitution. Back to the sofa where I try resume the Times mind games section, but at which I just stare zombie-like. I think I doze open eyed. I remember staring, I don't remember the last 45 minutes, I then remember staring, awake. In all the chaos I've forgotten my trusty ice pack. Moments later, high on ice, I catch up on several episodes of Grey's Anatomy but find unusually, the gory bits turn my stomach. I fast forward. The husband arrives home from a fun filled day in time to venture out for a snack before going to the cinema. We meet with friends and am grilled by the male of the species as to why I chose to have this procedure. This irks me so I answer with something like 'because it's something I wanted to do'. Stick that that in yer pipe and smoke it matey! It's clearly evident he doesn't approve. Disappointing food, disappointing Le Carré film and disappointing friend. Can't wait to go to bed and ice - think I need to wean myself off this substance. Day 10 Sunday Tightness is definitely reducing by small increments daily. Although I don't see it, daughter in law says it's much better than Friday - maybe that's coz The Man had been digging around in my flesh taking out stitches? I suggest to the husband in view of the sunny weather we should take the car out for a run in the countryside. He agrees, but by the time we finish pottering around, he in the garage and me in the house, the rain has started. We then agree to eBay all the stuff we found, but by the time we finish yet more pottering/clearing/cleaning neither of us can be bothered. So dinner it is, after which we plonk ourselves once more in front of the tv. My brain feels as bruised by tv as my face feels by The Man! Day 11 Monday I wake this morning after a bit of a restless night to find myself laying on the left side of my face. This is good news. However turning to the right isn't and is probably the reason for the restless night. Nevertheless I'm feeling good and drive to see Kim who practices her magic on me via MLD and her machine. She thinks I've healed amazingly well (v happy about that) and she says she can relieve the some of the tightness and lumpiness in my neck. Worryingly I still seem to have the same faint purple bruise on my cheek as was there from the beginning. She says she'll work on it and get it to shift. I have to say my neck does feel a little easier after treatment but the sides of my face are still numb as is the jawbone beneath my ears. The Man texts to see how the treatment went and basically confirms my fears that he thinks I'm a fruitcake. Onto the cancer care centre where I volunteer. I'm greeted by colleagues and patients who missed me last week. Ahhhh, such a great feeling to be missed! Entwined in my scarf and hair hanging down I pray they don't see through the greasepaint. The worst moment comes when I have to have a photo taken for the volunteer board. Why today of all days? Anyhow with a bit judicious posing there's one which is vaguely acceptable if one doesn't look too closely. Seeing a large gathering of close friends tonight and I know every inch of my face will be inspected. 'The expert' will pass her judgement I'm sure. As it happens I play it all down despite this being the first mass unveiling. We're there to discuss other important matters such as why Spurs collapsed and died three matches from the end of the season and briefly why Brexit would be a good/bad thing for the UK. We also practice a song that we'll sing to a friend at his 60th party. Day 12 Tuesday I go cold turkey today - I don't ice, instead I brush. Kim told me using a makeup brush is a gentle way of performing MLD. Needless to say I go at it hammer and tongs until my arms get bored/tired. So much for that. I'll try to do three times a day for a couple of minutes each in the hope that feeling will return or bruising will decrease but as yet I see no signs of change. I'm getting impatient now! On the plus side I'm sure Kim's little box of tricks had eased the fat face/fat neck. I take the two year old shopping for some badly needed household items. In the car, out the car, in the trolley, out the trolley, in the car, out the car, in another trolley, out the trolley, back in the car and then I realise I have nothing to give him for lunch. So we make another stop. Out the car, carry into shop, carry back out of shop and into car. Arrive home, out the car, into highchair. Feed child, change child, put child in cot for nap - aaaand collapse. Not sure this is what The Man meant when he said 'Rest, your body needs to heal'. The husband comes home in between meetings and takes now wide awake child to feed the ducks. I decline to tag along and instead sneak up into the office where I lay on my bean bag to read the paper. The sun warms my body, the birds sing and I fall asleep - again! I'm really supposed to be dealing with paperwork, emails and calls but when the boys arrive home and wake me, I have to relinquish my perch to make dinner for the little one. The evening is spent doing what I should have done earlier in the day and then having an early night. I am an ice addict, I haven't used an ice pack today...... Day 13 Wednesday Yes! After spending the morning preparing for a bank holiday weekend trip, I'm finally packed. Celery - check, overripe avocado - check, half full salad bag - check, sachet of chives - check, three bruised bananas - check. Shame I can't travel with a pot of open yoghurt in my hand luggage. I have to bin it. Fridge clear, I turn my thoughts to other essentials such as underwear, toothpaste and reading material. At the last minute I chuck in several changes of gym gear as I'm determined to hike, cycle, walk or do whatever I can. I also pack the facial bra, because even though I haven't worn it (sorry Man) it might come in useful, although not sure for what. More importantly I put earrings in my once pixie-like ears today as I now deem them acceptable as they're not quite so swollen. I also put a necklace on and consider these small but significant steps forward. Heading to Heathrow I almost miss the exit for terminal 5 but make it by the skin of my beautiful new neck, whereupon the husband who has been dealing with emails starts to complain when I ask him to call the meet and greet people. He hates the mobile phone as much as it hates him. They fight, they tussle and in the end he barely comes out winning. It's taken so long it turns out I'm now in the wrong place, so I drive round the airport twice until I find the right place. Blah, blah, blah, nightmare of security. I take off shoes, sunglasses, jewellery, belt, concealing scarf and sarcastically ask about underwired bras. I still make the machine beep, maybe my lilac neck has scared it. I have to go in another machine which thinks I have weapons of mass destruction under my boobs, on my shoulder and worryingly, in my crotch. I'm patted down, frisked, touched up - call it what you will and then waved at with a magic wand. I also have my feet scanned just in case I have anything hidden beneath them. The next gauntlet I run is the luggage scanner. The security woman takes out and inspects every bit of makeup I possess. Even the non liquid stuff she determines is secretly a liquid. She delights in telling me I'm over my limit as she holds my favourite Jo Malone perfume (blue agava and cacao). What she doesn't know is that I'm holding the ace. The husband doesn't have a liquids bag so boom, now he does! Finally we board the plane and proceed down to the back, which I hate. The stewardess asks my seat number and I tell her I think it's the toilet seat coz that's about where we're seated it's so far back. Unfortunately so was the one woman we've been avoiding. We think she fell into her scent bottle, so doused was she in sweet, cloying, old lady perfume. The husband was not amused, he hates 'smellies' at the best of times, especially those of old ladies. My face doesn't swell with the cabin pressure, I have no discomfort, I pass as normal on this flight of botoxed, lip plumped and face lifted passengers on their way to the south of France. We arrive, we go to bed, I realise I can now yawn properly, we sleep. And my tooth still hurts. I'm an ice addict, I haven't used an ice pack today...... Day 14 Thursday It's now two weeks since my surgery and this is the state of play thus far: On the right, I'm numb from the cheekbone by my hairline and this continues down to the lymph node in my neck which is still slightly enlarged although not noticeably. My right ear is semi numb but only at the back. I still feel gunged up in the crease behind my ear but I don't probe too much. My ear lobe is slightly swollen and numb where it attaches to my head. The same pretty much applies to the left side, although there's a bit less numbness and my ear is definitely back in play. The earlobe has no swelling. The lymph node is about the same as the right and above my larynx, the lumpiness is on the way out. My skull behind my ears is still numb. Weirdly I can feel the right side of my chin more than the left around the platysmaplasty incision. 50% of the scab detached itself and was hanging down a few days ago so had to cut it off before the rest got pulled off inadvertently. I still have a persistent bruise by my chin on the left and on my cheek (though this is more diffuse) and what I can only call a greyish/yellowish neck. As the right ear is taking longer to come back to life than the left, I'm thinking maybe The Man had more work to do on that side. I'll have to check my before photos. The scabs around the ears are still in place and very unattractive, although the hairline ones are definitely not as obvious. I still have a tightness under my chin/neck from ear to ear. The sides of my face are still pretty numb but the fluttery waves are still doing their thing so hopefully it won't be too long before there's life. I think my new neck is hanging off my ears so maybe that might be the reason?? I plaster on mucho factor 50 Obagi sunscreen, apply my Boots own brand concealer as the Jane Iredale stuff I was given makes me looks like a geisha. Presentable, I can now take on the good people of Eze. Except the clutch has gone on the car. Not be fazed we hop on the scooter only to find both tyres are suspiciously flat. Some while later, after much cursing by the husband, he's pumped them up with a bike pump and I don the helmet which seems to be every bit as tight/effective as the facial bra. Squeezed in and buckled up I climb aboard and we scoot down to the local garage. Who then scoot back up with us to investigate the problem and after much discussion we all scoot back down again. We arrive at our lunch stop and I finally remove the helmet My ears and face breathe a sigh of relief. Glass of rosé in hand, staring out over turquoise waters, listening to the chilled music, what could be better. Not that I drink often, but this enforced abstinence has meant this particular glass of wine tastes better than any other. Except the husband spends the majority of the meal on the phone stressed up to his eyeballs and being assertive - read shouting. The woman on the next table strikes up a conversation and tells me she is here for the Monaco Grand Prix. She's also a Brit and goes on and on name dropping. Her voice drones, my eyes glaze, my concentration wanders and I just catch myself in time from pulling my hair back into a pony tail and revealing the still stitchy, scabby ears and hairline, none of which have concealer on. Thankfully the husband's call has finished and I have a legitimate reason for turning my attention to him. We chat until he's distracted by further calls so I busy myself with emails. I still need to wear glasses as my eyesight seems to be shot. Somehow in the heat I have by now, unaware, put my hair up. I only realise this as the restaurant proprietor comes over for a chat. I can tell she's looking, her eyes keep flicking back and forth but I just have to brazen it out, but not before cramming my hat back into place. Finally helmet back on, head hot, husband shouting down the phone, helmet off, husband shouting at me, helmet on, we get on scooter, we shout again, we leave. We get back, husband apologises, we chill in the sun. I'm an ice addict, I haven't used an ice pack today....

Today's pics 5 weeks post op

London Facial Plastic Surgeon

5 out of 5 stars Overall rating
5 out of 5 stars Doctor's bedside manner
5 out of 5 stars Answered my questions
5 out of 5 stars After care follow-up
5 out of 5 stars Time spent with me
5 out of 5 stars Phone or email responsiveness
5 out of 5 stars Staff professionalism & courtesy
5 out of 5 stars Payment process
3 out of 5 stars Wait times
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