Then suddenly “Lizzie…well as I was saying the operation went well. You will be out of here in a week to ten days.”
A few days went by. He came to see me each day to change my bandages. I told him about my family and he has about his.
He is here again changing my bandages.
“Lizzie…have you been following my instructions because I fear something is happening. “I am beginning to get scared.
“Doctor, what’s the matter…what’s happening…is it the operations…tell me…I want to know!” I asked continuously. He just stood there and stared at the ground for what seemed an age .Then he raised his head so slowly I felt drowsy by the time he said “I am sorry to have to tell you that your face lift did not go to plan”
“Why? What happened?” I started to panic, “tell me!”
“Don’t be worried now I am sure there is some explanation for this. I just need a sample” he seems agitated as if I was a giant monster and he was a tiny mouse, that I was about to stamp on.
“What’s wrong? I want to know, what do you need a sample for? What do you need a sample of for that matter…tell me” Once again I was getting worried. Why wasn’t he telling me? Why…Why???
“I have some bad news your face isn’t lifting its drooping and your face is all wrinkly. In fact you look like an 80-year-old woman, frail and aged by about 45 years,” he said gently as if trying to hide what he was saying. I think he is a coward. I deserve to know the truth, good or bad. He is definitely a coward.
“So, what do I have to do for this sample?” he seemed shocked as if I should have taken his head off like my father. He would have gone straight to the management and told the he was suing them. But I have inherited my mothers ‘easy going’ nature to all situations in life.
“Yes….the sample….just a small scratch of the skin on your face that’s all.” I replied immediately “and when can that be done?” he looked shocked that I was so easy about all of this.
He took the sample there and then. He just left my room and said as he was leaving that he’ll be back in 2 hours with my results.
I have been sat here for two hours, the doctor has just returned.
“What are the results? Do you know the cause?” I looked anxiously. “The results are negative. We don’t know what caused it ……” I can’t hear anymore, its all just babble. My life has ended…its over. I am going to look like an old granny at the age of 33.
“Lizzie, Lizzie….I have to warn you, it could just be a delayed reaction but we just don’t know the cause. You are going to have to go about life as normal. The only difference is your face. I can offer you counselling.”
I have been discharged. The neighbours stare. A young boy came up to me and asked “Excuse me, do you want me to help you cross the road old lady?”
I am now dead the problem was that in the operation I was infected with the super bug that was unknown at that point called MRSA which didn’t show up on the sample.