I had a few options on writing this month’s blog. But it seemed obvious to write about something I experienced recently, that women would either relate to, or simply find amusing. BOTOX.
I’m 33. I look 26 (I’ve been told by many). That’s not enough for me. I HATE my forehead lines. It took me a year of thinking about getting Botox to go ahead with it. Trust me, I didn’t go into lightly.
I had a consultation in a clinic in Cheltenham a few months back but didn’t go through with it. However, it was still on my mind. And on my forehead.
So I went ahead and booked another consultation in London and told my gay friend who has had plenty of Botox to see what he thought. He took one look at me and told me I needed it. That’s what gay friends are for. Brutal. Straight. Honestly.
He came with me to my new second consultation, a place I deliberately booked where you can have the Botox the same time as your consultation if you wish. I knew once I had booked it, I would go through with it.
However, this didn’t stop my highly strung panicky moments that crept though on the day. The outrageous questions that went through my mind, the ridiculous worries that filled my brain. The horror stories I had read over and over! I was a nervous wreck. That’s what you get for being a Botox Virgin. And I was about to pop my needle.
The lovely lady who gave me the Botox asked what my concerns were. I had a list I had written prepared. Allergic reactions, drooping, wonkiness, will it hurt? What if it goes wrong? What if I don’t like the results? Will there BE any results? Will my face be frozen like Amanda Holden’s?
As I lay down on the ‘patients table’ I was asked to pull some funny faces, (this was to find certain muscles) and with the bright light in my face, I could almost imagine myself doing a gig. Until the needle entered me.
The only way I can describe it was it felt like she was popping loads of spots of my face. Well, 10 spots to be exact. 10 squirts of Botox now inside me and before I knew it, it was all over. The Doctor passed me a mirror and told me to take a look. Nothing had changed. I had to wait four days for it to kick in! FOUR DAYS! That was like four Christmas eves back to back for me!
I walked out the clinic feeling like a naughty school girl – until my gay friend told me to stop walking like I had a cucumber up my arse. I hadn’t moved my neck since leaving the clinic, consciously keeping my head still in case the Botox moved.
For the next four mornings I would run into the bathroom to take a look. And low and behold, each day, my forehead was becoming smoother. And what’s even better, is in two weeks I get a free top up as I was given the minimum amount.
I am happy I went through it and I will definitely get it done again. But like anything in life, you can’t abuse it. Treat it with care, don’t do too much. And like most things, worries are just simply in your head. It turns out, this really WAS in my head. LITERALLY!
