My dad used to talk about getting a face lift someday. After all he inherited the drooping jowels from his mother (I think Stephen and I got 'em too but Stephen got the more resilient olive skin and I got my mom's Irish skin).
Great. Jowels that will droop and skin that's prone to skin cancer. What a bonus! I have on occasion, and quite cavalierly, stated that I will plan on a face lift at some point.
I had a little basal cell cancer taken off my nose today (I had put it off for a year, I'm ashamed to say). I thought it would be a snap, but three slices later, after they got all of it, the medical assistant had to go and fetch a mirror and thrust it into my hand to see their handiwork. Egad! I did not need to see that! The hole in my nose looked like a crater to me! Vanity reared it's comparing mind (will the scar be horrible? will my skin heal more poorly than others? etc.).
The doctor recommended letting the hole heal from the inside out, no stitches, and then maybe a little skin graft. Eeew. Getting cut again? Clearly I wasn't thrilled. He then said he could, if I preferred, put a few stitches in underneath and on top. Bring 'em on, I said. A little scar with faster healing was okay by me.
This afternoon, I realize how many (many) faces I make during the day. Ouch. Wrinkling my nose hurts. Ouch. Raising an eyebrow hurts. Ouch, my nose hurts! In two days, I can take off the bandage. In a week, the wound should be healing up nicely (or so they say).
Meanwhile, if a little skin cancer removal hurts, how on earth do people live through rhinoplasty or full-on plastic surgery?! To cope, I think I'll put my feet up early tonight and try not to make faces for the next few days.