My first Botox was a little like a first kiss but with a little more pain: Loads of anticipation, hopes and dreams but in the end comes disappointment and the reality that if you kiss a frog it will not automatically turn into a prince or you into a princess.

 

As I was getting closer and closer to my fiftieth birthday, I was looking more and more at myself in the mirror, “Mirror, mirror on the wall….?”.  Could people tell my age from my wrinkles or my laugh lines as I preferred to call them? Could they see that I would soon be fifty?

I wondered what I could do to look younger.

Of course, I could go to the gym more often, look after myself a little better. I could lose a few pounds and hold myself straighter. Dress younger even? But all this would not improve my skin or get rid of my wrinkles. I would soon start looking like an ‘old bag’.

 

The last blow came when I was shopping and a little girl in her pushchair said pointing at me: “Mémé! Mémé!” (Nanna! Nanna!) Surely I had heard wrongly? But her mother confirmed what I had heard correctly by replying to her: “Non, ce n’est pas Mémé. La dame ne ressemble pas a Mémé” (no it’s not Nanna, the lady does not look like Nanna.). She did not say that the lady was not as old as her Nanna or so much younger than her Nanna. I did feel like saying to her that she could teach her little ‘brat’ a few manners and perhaps get her some glasses because obviously there was something wrong with her eyesight.

I couldn’t help but wonder whether she would have said the same thing to Demi Moore or Sharon Stone for instance.

Instead, I took it upon myself and decided to do something about it.

 

I knew a few of my friends who had resorted to some form of cosmetic surgery over the years including my own sister. Some had the bags under their eyes removed, or their neck redone, or even liposuction or full reconstruction (breasts, nose, ears, jaws, etc…) but I felt that this was a little too much for me and I was not prepared to put my health at risk, at least not to that extent simply to look better. On the other hand, I was starting to think that Mother-Nature needed a little help from a knowledgeable professional. What about finding someone who could simply make my wrinkles disappear? The hard part was finding the right practitioner to carry out the JOB.

 

I began my search.

 

My friends were unlikely to be the best source for this information. Most were very reluctant to talk about what they had done and most even refused to even reveal that embarrassing fact. They preferred on the whole the idea of make believe that they simply looked younger because they looked after themselves better. God forbid they would admit to having had any form of cosmetic procedure. I tried to talk to them as to whether they could recommend someone but they were absolutely schtum about it. It seemed that not revealing the name of your dermatologist or plastic surgeon was practically the same as not revealing the best mushroom picking places.

 

So where should one start? The internet of course was one option, woman press was another. But how could you be sure that what they said had been tried and tested. So I resorted to the same as most, I tried to use my own judgement. Asking myself:

-          Who were the biggest?

-          Had there been people suing them for negligence or malpractice?

-          How much should I be expecting to pay for small procedures?

-          What type of side effects could I be expecting?

I quickly realised that the list was endless.

 

I finally found someone that attracted my attention more than most because he was so atypical. He had not started his medical career as a plastic surgeon although he had surgical training...

....To be continued next week with Phase 2