Needles around my nose and a three-drumstick day.

I have a beautiful niece, well I have four of them, but the one I'm talking about is the one who wrangles a couple of plastic surgeons in Palo Alto. She was looking for a "model" to test a new facial filler, which is like spackle applied with a needle. I pictured this being applied to erase years of worry from my deeply lined forehead. Nope. This particular filler is intended for marionette lines -- the ones the go from nose to mouth a la a wooden, hinged-mouth puppet. I'm open to new experiences so I agreed to be a guinea pig. (Ten minutes later I tried to back out--"Too bad; I don't have puppet lines."--and threw out the names of a few friends who were more likely candidates. Sorry J, J, and A. I didn't mean it. I was just scared.)

In the receptionist room there were three of us: me, another woman like me, and a tannish, thin man who looked like he was no stranger to Botox since his face lacked any signs of life. We signed release forms then I was taken to the injection room. My niece introduced me to the doctor and said he was the best injectionist and that, as a bonus, he would Botox my forehead when he was finished with the filler. I was grateful. I noticed that I was the only person in the room with wrinkles on my face. The doctor and I initialed another release form that I was too nervous to read but which probably stated that should I die or, worse, become horribly disfigured he would not be responsible because, after all, he's never used this product before. To further drive the point home, the drug rep stayed in the room and discussed doses and viscosity and mid- to deep-derma positioning and adverse patient reactions the whole time.

I don't have a thing about needles but after he injected me about thirty times I started to feel jittery and clammy, a bit like I was going to projectile vomit the two cups of coffee I had for breakfast. I was sweating so much I started to slide around on the vinyl dental chair. The nurse dabbed my forehead and my niece put ice packs wherever she could find exposed skin. The doctor decided to give me break and while he was gone the nurse said that when he came back he should fill that deep line in my chin. She handed me a mirror. I do have a deep line on my chin! It's hideous. I couldn't wait for him to erase it. We waited. My color returned. My face started to ache but my stomach unclenched. I was thinking, OK doc; I'm ready for my Botox. But he decided I'd had enough and moved on to the tan man. I could hear them laughing in the next room. 

Plastic surgery is a lot like divorce -- expensive, quasi-elective, self-inflicted pain and suffering. As I walked to my car, the staff told me to ice my face all day to keep the swelling down. I ate ice cream instead.