I am 52 and single (see above). The longer I am single, the less that bothers me.
The single part? Okay, fine. Although my nightly pet orgy is cause for concern. But the 52 and LOOKING 52 part? Okay, that rankled.
Fortunately, I’ve had a blog (WEBSITE!! IT’S A WEBSI–oh, who are we kidding) since 2006, so I have 4954950305 photos of self, which enables me to watch aging as it creeps angrily across face.
Perhaps I should be embracing life and being delighted to be alive and not concern myself with the ravages of time, but perhaps there is no way I’m gonna do that. The only people who say that are people who were never cute in the first place. And look. I was never any beauty queen. But sometimes I was okay with my looks. Now I never, ever am.
I once read that if, once all your makeup is on and you’ve DONE YOUR BEST, you STILL feel unhappy with your looks, then it’s time for medical intervention. Gandhi said that. I’ve kept it in mind, and I’ve reached that point.
Anyway, no matter how much makeup I put on nowadays, no matter what tricks I pulled off, when I was done I didn’t look refreshed. I looked rehashed.
Okay, that photo was after an exhausting day. Doesn’t count.
Okay, here. I believe this was Christmas 2017. Makeup completely applied, and? Eh.
So my friend who gets everything done told me about Ultherapy. It’s this little machine they pass over your face (877 times, in my case) (seriously) that allegedly destroys and then grows your collagen, so that a few months after having it, you look exactly as you did at birth. Yes, I DID attempt to get them to pay for this procedure, knowing that at least 14 people read me. No, that did NOT impress them.
But the good news is now I can tell you all about it honestly.
So, first, my friend told me about how she’d had it done, and was waiting for the full results to kick in, but that she thought she already saw a difference. Interest. Piqued.
Then I read read read about it, and if you go on their website, the fine folks at Ultherapy will send you a simulation of what you’ll look like after, a simulation photo I had but could not find, and why, god. I’m a good person. Look at all the lovely sentiments in this here post.
Anyway, I saw three Ultherapy providers here in my area, and found one I trusted, and who would take a payment plan because of course I can’t afford this, and yes, it costs. It depends how much you have done, but it’s gonna cost at least $2,000.
Yesterday, I went for my procedure.
I didn’t have to do anything to prepare except avoid Retinol for a week and take 9 million milligrams of Motrin. I never take anything but migraine meds, but I happened to own Motrin because of broken toe, Motrin that I never took. I took a little less than she told me to, because I was worried it’d make me sick.
That may have been an error.
I wasn’t even nervous, which is also a mistake, because I find if I worry and obsess about something, it’s usually okay, and if I’m Chester Cheeto about it, whatever I didn’t worry about tends to be hell.
I hobbled in right at 2:00, and she took photos of me, and then we discussed which areas we were going to cover. What bugs me most about self is I have no jawline anymore.
Hey, June, would you like a jawbreaker? Oh, I…are you even allowed to eat those?
So we were for sure doing that area, and I could have gone down onto my neck and décolletage, but instead I opted to do my cheeks. Just a little pinch between my cheek and gum.
We also did my forehead. I wasn’t expecting to do that, but I did not complain. Well. I DID complain, but we’re getting to that.
Because what I read, in the 2939402032 sites I perused, is there is “some discomfort” and that it “varies from person to person.” Well, I get Botox shot into m’forehead three times a year, and Juvederm as well. And I take it like a man. I say nothing and have a heart attack later.
She’d revved up her machine, and I was still completely not nervous. I was lying in a reclining chair, like at the dentist, and she’d given me a blanket. Then she said, “Ready? Three, two, one…”
MOTHER OF GOD!
MADRE DE DIOS!
The best way I can describe it is hot needles that had jalapeño on their tips. And that thing was jalapeño business, man. I mean, it has to go deep to RIP OUT all your collagen or whatever, and one thing that was good was the woman administering it, who was great, would count down for me. “Okay, in this area we need to do 60 passes.” And then she’d be all, “We’re at 37.”
Like I didn’t know that. Like I wasn’t counting every terrible pass over my skin. Still, it was nice she did that. And she would move to another area for awhile if I got too tense.
I was in agony knowing that with each part of my face, we’d have to come back and go over it again, and possibly even one more time after that. But the second pass?
Didn’t hurt nearly as much.
And I mean, look. It hurt. But I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream for her to stop. I just lay there covered in SWEAT, is all. But I got through it.
She told me it’d take two hours, and it took precisely that. When I got up, I’d left a Shroud of Turin on the chair. The backs of my jeans were damp.
Anyway, last night I was a little swollen but nothing terrible. My cheeks are numb, which they said to expect. I should start seeing results (more of a jawline, more lift in cheeks, lifted brows) in 90 days, and of course I will keep you apprised of my every nuance re this investment in my future.
“She was the best-looking bag lady I ever saw. So smooth!”
Further reports as developments warrant.