When people think of plastic surgery, dramatic changes come to mind, but for me, plastic surgery meant softening the rough edges. ​

It was around the time I turned 60 that I decided to get a facelift. My husband and I were empty nesters and we just became grandparents. We loved it! Having a grand-baby was like having our own child again, but better, because when we were done, we could give her back. I would marvel when I looked into her eyes. I loved her so much and I wanted to be the best grandmother I could be. But the funny thing was, I didn’t feel like a grandmother.

I was still very active, in good health and full of energy. I felt great on the inside, but on the outside my age was starting to show. My hair seemed to turn grey overnight, so I started dying it on a regular basis. Varicose veins were emerging from behind my knees and the skin around my eyes and cheeks starts to droop. The signs were all there; I was getting old.

My face and body no longer matched up with how I felt on the inside. On the inside I was young. On the outside, I was a grandmother. 

I was a happy person, and I didn’t like the fact that my face and body didn’t reflect that. 15 years earlier I had breast augmentation so I was familiar with cosmetic surgery. Since becoming a mother, I always figured I would need an augmentation, and three years after my youngest was born, I had it done.

But my motivation for getting a facelift was different. The facelift symbolized a new chapter and a change in how I defined myself. For nearly three decades I was a mother, and not much more than that. After the facelift, I would still be a mother, and being a mother would still be my priority, but motherhood would no longer define me. I could be a mother and me. I could take care of my children and myself at the same time.

So I decided to get a mini facelift and an eyelid lift. Because I had such a good experience with my previous surgeon, I decided to use him again.

The procedure went well and I recovered quickly. There was some bruising, and when I went out in public, other women were concerned. I had one lady at the grocery store ask if there was anything she could do to help. Implying that I was in an abusive relationship. I told her I appreciated here concern, but explained the bruising was from a recent surgery. She wasn’t totally convinced.

After the injuries faded, and my face settled in, I could see the results were what I wanted. My face reflected how I felt on the inside, happy. I looked like me. Nothing dramatic was done and everything was natural. I still looked my age, but the best way I can describe it is that I looked like a woman you secretly envy and wonder, “what’s her secret”.  

My husband and I both love being grandparents and we know aging is inevitable. We can’t turn back the hands of time and look like we did in our twenties, but we can take the rough edges off while embracing our age. I love being a grandmother but I also love how my surgery allowed to me to look like me again.

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