Lower face, neck and brow lift - feel like I’m being strangled 24/7

I visited Dr. LaCombe looking for a nonsurgical means of treating a neck wattle, thinking I just had saggy skin. He explained that the thin sheets of muscle in my neck were sagging, and the only way to fix it was with a neck lift. This was presented to me as a package deal with a lower face lift. I thought, "Nope, not for me," and went home.
Later, I was horrified by a candid photo of myself, and it prompted me to schedule the procedure. I figured I would do a brow lift as well, since I'd always had asymmetric eyebrows.
I did a LOT of research before making this decision. I visited reputable websites like Mayo Clinic and Stanford University. They all said to expect a couple of weeks of discomfort and swelling after a neck lift. Some described patients feeling as if they were wearing a party hat with a tight chin strap for a few weeks post-op. That doesn’t don't come close to describing what I've been through.
I've had experience with pain: delivering two babies without anesthesia, foot surgeries, a breast reduction, and an arthroscopic hip surgery. After all that, I figured I could handle anything. Boy, was I wrong. This has been the most stressful and hideously painful experience of my life, made up entirely of searing, unrelenting, literally in-your-face pain.
Remember that comparison to wearing a party hat with a tight chinstrap? Sure, that's accurate, if the party hat is a hornets' nest and the chinstrap is made of barb wire. My ears felt like they'd been ripped off and sewn back on again. I was unable to chew anything for several weeks, and lived on soup, oatmeal, and smoothies.
Both the doctor and his primary nurse deflected my concerns at post-op rechecks, replying: "I have patients out playing golf two weeks after this procedure," and "Our other patients don't have these problems."
It's been six months now. I’m no longer acutely painful, but the chinstrap sensation persists; I feel like I’m being strangled 24/7. My cheeks and jawline have a constant sense of thickness and discomfort. Whenever I get overheated, the entire surgical site—from my hairline to my collarbones—feels like I have prickly-heat rash. It still hurts to put any pressure on my ears, which makes sleeping or getting a haircut uncomfortable.
Before I had this done, I used to watch "Grace and Frankie" and admire Jane Fonda’s youthful neckline. The final season aired a couple of months ago and all I could see was how stiff and phony she looks, and how comfortable and natural Millicent Martin (who plays Joan Margaret) looks in comparison.
If I had read even one review on RealSelf that gave any inkling of how invasive a face and neck lift really is, and how awful the aftermath can be, I would not have had one. Even if the esthetic results had exceeded my expectations (they have not; see notes in the photos) it would not have been worth the pain and stress of the last six months. This has been the biggest, most expensive mistake of my life.
As I sat in a little treatment room the morning of the surgery, waiting for things to start, I thought, “I should just get dressed and leave.” I wish I had. Even if it would have meant forfeiting the entire prepaid surgical fee, I wish I had.

Eight months post-op. I've been seeing a psychologist for the last month. My preliminary diagnoses are PTSD and severe depression. I'm taking Gabapentin for chronic pain and anxiety. Be careful what you wish for, people. It doesn't matter how good I look when I feel like this.

One year post-op update:
I am still in constant discomfort. It's downgraded from the outright pain I experienced for most of last year, but is impossible to tune out. The entire surgical area—from my eyebrows to way up past my hairline, from my temples down to my jawline, and the underside of my chin and front of my neck—feel stiff and thickened, like there's a layer of sheet vinyl inserted under my skin. My ears are still very sensitive. I have to sleep with a baby blanket folded up behind my head to keep the backs of my ears from touching my pillow when I sleep on my back. I curl the blanket into a C-shape and position it around my ear when I sleep on my side. Getting a haircut is still uncomfortable, too, because the hairstylist has to bend my ears away from my head to use the clippers. The "chinstrap" effect is still in full force, as if a hand is clamped under my jaw at all times.
I'll admit that my eyelids/eyebrows, jaw and neckline do look better than before the surgery. BUT aftereffects of the surgery, such as the weird indentations above my eyebrows whenever I lift them, red pinprick marks (petechiae) on my forehead, the broken blood vessels on my neck, and the indentation on my left cheek, were not part of the bargain. I've just been left with a whole new set of perceived flaws in addition to chronic stiffness and discomfort.
This surgery was the biggest, most expensive mistake I've ever made. If time travel were possible, I would gladly pay ten times the surgical fee to go back and not put myself through this.