Wellness/Plastic Surgery
A little R&R (research and then recovery) pays off for a woman who draws the line at droopy lids

Wednesday, April 12, 2006
by SARA PERRY

The Oregonian

All it took was this declaration from my daughter, Julie: "Mom, it's time." What my bright-eyed, 30-year-old child meant was that the extra folds of skin on my upper eyelids needed to go.

My family knows I believe in aging gracefully, that my crow's feet and laugh lines are life's badges. But I've also made it clear that I don't want tired, droopy eyes. I've always felt that, when the time came, I would consider cosmetic surgery on my upper lids. When I turned 50 a decade ago, I began looking at my face in a new way. Being a former Southern California sun-worshipper, I went to my dermatologist once a year to check for moles and skin abnormalities. But my beauty regime was merely soap and water, drug-store lotions and twice-yearly visits to the Nordstrom makeup counter.

About six years ago, I started paying attention to my complexion. Facials every six or seven weeks made a difference in my skin tone. Then, two years ago, I asked my dermatologist, Dr. Bert Tavelli, about getting rid of broken capillaries around my nose as well as a few dark spots -- all right, age spots -- on my forehead and cheek. He suggested laser treatments. But after my 60th birthday last year, I could see gravity working against me. I swore my eyelids felt heavier. Maybe it was time to consider surgery. In the end, it came down to this: I want to look and feel my best in middle age -- thanks to aging boomers, 60 is the new 40 -- and I realized it's up to me to decide what that means. So I made exercise a priority, losing those 15 extra pounds. And I listened to my daughter's advice.

The phone calls:
Last summer, I began my search for a plastic surgeon. Dr. Tavelli and my esthetician, Debra Marsh, gave me a list of names. I chose four and started making phone calls. I asked each receptionist what an initial visit cost; how far in advance I needed to schedule the procedure; and a ballpark price. It was easier than I thought. All the surgeons had openings for a consultation within a week to 10 days and for the surgery within three to four weeks. In each case, the fee for the initial visit was about $150, which would be applied to the final payment. From articles I'd read, I expected the price to be in the $2,500 range. Three fit the bill; the fourth was $4,000-plus.

The appointments:
I was in a great mood as I drove to my first appointment. I could imagine the doctor saying, "You look great for your age; this will just help you look rested and refreshed." A twentysomething receptionist greeted me, took my pre-exam questionnaire and ushered me into a room where another young woman went over my paperwork and gave me a vision exam. Next, the doctor -- looking quite rested himself -- pulled up a chair. After listening to my story and examining my eyelids, forehead and face, he ever-so-nicely told me that doing only the upper lids would not give me the results I wanted. What I really needed, he said, was to have the upper and lower lids done -- a procedure known as blepharoplasty -- along with a brow lift. And to get ideal results, a series of Botox injections beforehand. Whoa! Couldn't I just start with the upper eyelids? Not in his opinion. The surgical quote for a forehead lift with upper and lower lids, including Botox, was more than $7,500.

It was a long drive home. Those prices weren't in my financial -- or emotional -- budget. Discouraged, I felt like forgetting the whole thing. But after a good night's sleep and thoughts of Julie's admonition, I decided to go ahead with the other appointments.

In Dr. Lee Robinson's exam room, a fortysomething woman went over my paperwork. She told me she had the same procedure and shared her pictures. Then she asked, "Are you up for it?" Absolutely. Dr. Robinson entered the room, shook my hand and wheeled a stool over to get a closer look. I repeated the same story I told the first doctor. "I see what you mean. It looks like you have a gram or two of extra skin up there," Robinson said. "I imagine your eyes look their best in the morning, but after a day of all that opening and closing, they're bound to appear tired. With the extra skin gone, you'll notice a big difference." I waited for the punch line, then asked, "Do you think I need a brow lift?" "Not really," he replied. "In time, gravity pulls that area down, too, but why not start with what you want? You can always have it done later." Bingo.

Now, for the price: less than $3,000. That was close enough for me. I set up a brief pre-op visit and left the office with an information packet, including prescriptions for an antibiotic, pre-op relaxation pill and post-op anti-inflammatory.

Getting ready:
What stuck in my mind -- and what I couldn't quite believe -- was Dr. Robinson saying this wasn't a painful procedure. He also said that, for most people, the third and fourth day were the most uncomfortable because of swelling. I figured I had that licked because I knew all about the frozen peas. You see, bagged frozen peas conform to your face and work like ice packs, cutting down on bruising. On the morning of my surgery, there was a supply in a cooler in our guest room, along with lots of comfy pillows to keep me propped up and a supply of books on tape. (I slept in the guest room because it's a straight, 10-step walk from the bed to the bathroom, and I can do it with my eyes shut.)

Dr. Robinson said I should stay in bed the first 24 hours and take it easy for the first week. I heard him but thought, "If I get the bruising under control and wear movie-star sunglasses in public, I'll be good to go in five days max." The surgery Up bright and early, I swallowed the pre-op pill, and my husband, Pete, drove one very relaxed lady to the doctor's office. A nurse ushered me into the surgery suite. My next conscious memory was getting into my girlfriend's car to go home. Once home, she got me settled in bed with the phone, tapes and frozen peas by my side. The rest of the day was a sleepy blur of an English actor reading a detective story and Pete calling several times to check on me. Those icy peas kept everything numb, and I was feeling no pain.

The first week:
The first and second days weren't bad at all. In fact, there was something quite relaxing about the whole thing. And the detective story was getting good. Then came Day Three. What is going on here? There was no bruising, but my lids were so swollen I could hardly open them. It was not a pretty sight, and very uncomfortable. What was I thinking when I'd offered to baby-sit my grandson the day after tomorrow? True, I was up, dressed and moving around, but my lids were at half-mast and not budging. The colds peas and Advil helped, but I was in no shape to entertain a 6-month-old. (Or to read the print on my computer screen. Or go outside into the glare.) Why didn't I take the whole week off?

Thanks to a dear friend who delivered a surprise basket of ravioli, fresh greens, tarts and lemon pound cake, I slipped back into a spa state of mind, headed for the guest room and discovered who murdered the beautiful socialite-turned-undercover agent. Cold peas and warm showers punctuated my first post-surgery week. Both helped. But while I was able to do the grocery shopping and other small errands, the swelling didn't seem to be going down. Even so, I could see the results. I had real lids -- hooray! -- and knew that someday they'd be back to normal. Without question, I was glad I'd done this.

At the end of the week, I drove myself to Dr. Robinson's office to have the stitches removed. While I dreaded the thought of someone, anyone, touching my eyelids, there was no reason to worry. I barely felt anything. The nurse said the swelling was normal and would go down significantly now that the stitches were out. My scars were still reddish but hardly noticeable, as they followed my eyelid creases.

Two weeks and beyond:
It was wonderful to look in the mirror and see my lids. Sure, they were still a little puffy, but a friend said my eyes looked more almond-shaped than swollen. I still had no desire to wear eye makeup, as my lids were still numb and I didn't want to put anything on the scars. At three weeks, though, I was putting on makeup like a pro. It was really odd to suddenly see the shadow and liner I've been putting on for years. My lids were slightly numb above my lashes, but that was gradually going away. The only other thing I noticed was that my eyes occasionally felt dry. However, an optometrist told me that, at 60, your eyes are drier because they produce fewer tears. Combine that with a blepharoplasty, and your eyes are bound to feel tired and scratchy. All that may be needed is an occasional dose of artificial tears.

In the end, this journey has been worth every hour. When I look in the mirror I like what I see. It may be subtle to the outside world, but to me, the change is obvious -- and uplifting. Looking back, my only regret is that I didn't clear my schedule the first week. (Actually, I wish I'd taken two weeks off and pampered myself.)

My other advice? In choosing a surgeon, go with your instincts. I'm certainly glad I did. And you know what? So is my daughter.

©2006 The Oregonian