Finding the right Plastic Surgeon was not easy. I spent years going to recommended doctors both in Las Vegas and in Beverly Hills. I even met with the doctor who worked on Cher, herself! But I was gun shy and could not find enough justification to spend the money or undergo such torture. Then, a few months ago, a friend of mine and I were visiting. I noticed that he looked really great and I asked him if he had had any work done. He admitted that he had and he gave me the name of his Plastic Surgeon. I met with this doctor and decided to bite the bullet and get my lower face and neck lifted. I also decided to have some fat transferred into my lips. The next few posts in this blog will be dedicated to telling you about the surgery, the aftercare and how sorry I feel for the surgeon who has no idea how to communicate to his patients once the anesthesia wears off.
First, let's talk about what I looked like when my poor husband, Gene, drove me home a few hours after my surgery. You see, fat transfer to the lips can look pretty crazy. You have to fill the lips to full capacity since 80% of the fat dies or gets reabsorbed into the body. So, my lips were reminiscent of a platypus! Of course, there was a tight bandage around my head and the assistant informed Gene that "the swelling has to go somewhere!" Gene just wasn't ready for what he saw when they wheeled me out of the recovery room.
I'd show you a picture, but then I'd have to kill you! My husband said I looked more like I had had brain surgery, with all the drooling and swelling. Lol!
Well, my first night was pretty scary because the bandaging was causing me difficulty in both breathing and swallowing. So, around 4am, Gene telephoned the doctor to ask if we could cut the bandage a bit to give me more room for my larynx. We did this and then went to the doctor's office the next day for my first follow-up exam.
I did not see the doctor that day, which surprised me since he knew I had been in some distress the night before. His assistant took off my bandaging to examine my face and all the stitches. I'm going to show you a photo of part of the stitches now so you can see that there were a ton of them. They went in front of my ears, in back of my ears, down the bottom of my scalp and in the scalp above the temples. It was a lot of stitches!
When the bandages came off, there was a very large swollen mass on the left side of my neck. I brought this to the attention of the assistant and inquired as to possible remedies for the swelling. She said it was just "normal swelling" and to ice it. I went home with a lesser bandage now around my face.
Still a bit loopy from the anesthesia, I found myself not wanting to take any more of the pain pills prescribed to me after the third or fourth day. I just wanted to regain my wits. I opted to take some Tylenol and live with the pain. But my larynx had been injured by the overly tight bandage from the first night and I was miserable. The large swelling on my neck was not receding from the ice and so I decided to do a little surfing on the net to see if I could find any more helpful information. What I found was that the swelling I had was not "normal swelling." It was a "hematoma" or blood-filled sac just under my skin. I read that these should be drained as soon as possible so as to not cause damage; the worst being the killing off of localized skin cells. I now had just a few days before my next follow-up appointment. At least this time, I could tell the assistant that I had a hematoma.
Gene drove me again to my next follow-up which was four days post surgery. We went into the examining room and were soon met with an assistant. She said, "You look great," to which I replied, "Except for the hematoma." I took off my bandage and let her see the large, swollen mass. She went to get the doctor. Hurray!
When the doctor saw the hematoma, he looked upset. He questioned Gene and myself as to when we first noticed this swelling. We told him on the day after surgery and explained that we had brought it up to his assistant who then told us it was "normal swelling." He wasn't very happy about that and took his assistant into the hallway to speak to her. When he returned, he drained the hematoma by opening a few stitches behind my ear and pushing the clotted blood through the opening. Ouch! Here's a picture of my neck after the first draining.
I went back to get this drained two more times. Gene was always with me because I was still too loopy to drive. During those visits with the doctor, I found him to be a bit resentful whenever I'd bring up things that I felt needed more attention such as my two earlobes that were mismatched, a dent in my skin near my eye and some fat transfer problems with my lips. I tried to always be cordial and kind because I know how hard it must be for a surgeon to hear complaints after his work. It's like with any artist who creates something only to have it critiqued in a less-than-perfect fashion. But never in my wildest dreams did I expect him to react in such a hostile way to a simple request I politely asked him a few weeks later... (more to come!)
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