The day after IPL

The day after, was perhaps more horrific than the procedure itself.

I was instantly reminded of my face, it still was tight feeling, and rather sore, as if burnt.

With children and tasks ahead I shuffled to the kitchen and the over zealous morning energy of my 6 year old.

His normal “I want demands” . . . . fell flat as he stared at me and with wide eyed innocence asked, “what was wrong with my face?”

I was like “what?”, “what do you mean?”.   His little hand reached out and tried to rub my cheek as if there was food or something stuck to it.

I ran to the bathroom . . . .

Oh my god . . . . . . Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.

Not only was my face bright red, but it was also covered in dark brown patches, that were sort of dotted.  Dotted as if I had been to a black sand beach and the wind had blown sand, which had stuck to my face.

I remembered the slightly reassuring words of the dermatologist from the day before.

The instruction, “that when I woke, it would be drastic, but not to panic as after a couple of days I, or my skin, would be shining.”

At least I think that’s what he said.  Why had I not concentrated yesterday?  Why had I not listened??  Why on earth did I concede to my vanity . . . . .  what was I thinking??

Another deep breath, the children were screaming at me now – they required feeding.  Thus, on with the day, patchy, brown, spotty and red face, on with the day.

My nanny arrived a few hours later.  I had showered and exfoliated to the point of nearly applying sandpaper, in an attempt to reveal my usual, my “normal” complexion.  It was not to be , not today.

Her silence and pained looks at my face, on arrival, revealed her true feelings.

She politely asked if I was ok.

I explained.  She remained pained looking.

My boys, my nanny and I were meant to be off to the Santa Monica Pier for a birthday celebration for one of Jett’s (the 6 year-old) school friends.

Hmmmm . . .  what to do?  A kids party.  Full of parents. Parents I haven’t met, as we were new to the school.

When my nanny suggested I stay home and she take the boys I realised it was bad.  Really bad.

So I asked.  “Is it really that bad?”

“No!  Not at all. Well maybe a bit, maybe if you wore your hair down and across your forehead.  Maybe some makeup?”

Boy does the truth hurt!

So I quickly pulled my hair down from its tight bun on top of my head and proceeded to encourage it to style itself across my forehead and half of my face.

It kind of worked, not . . . .  but it would have to do.

Ready to leave, my nanny asked me again if I was sure I wanted to go?

Of course I didn’t want to go, but I had had a realisation.

I realised that was part of the process, well my process at least.

When I bought into “the vanity”, it was all or nothing.  The entire kit and caboodle.  Hook, line and sinker.

I was not going to hide away, until “presentable” again.  No!

I need not have feared, after an initial “Hi I’m, so and so, mother to such and such . . . .”  my first “Mom acquaintance” took one look at me and said “oh you’ve had IPL”.  So completely matter of fact.

She then enlightened me with her own IPL tale.

Over the course of the next two hours, not one mother was appalled at my appearance, in fact they were all keen to share their own “vanity inspired tales” with me.

As we drove home from the party, my boys tweaking out on sugar and my nanny and I quiet with exhaustion.  I realised something.

Despite my thoughts to the contrary, there was nothing reassuring about any of the tales the mothers had shared today.  It was in fact, quite simply, frightening.

At home, in New Zealand, the site of me and my somewhat destroyed face would have been such a cause for concern an intervention of some sort may well have taken place.

Here it was everyday.  So common it was part of chit chat meet and greet conversation.

I was, quite stunned.

What had I become?  Was it honestly about my fear of aging?

Or was it more sinister and part of the change taking place, as we submitted to life in Los Angeles?

All I know, is that five days from the day after the day,  I awoke to a clear, youthful complexion.

Any philosophical questions I had pondered, were nothing but a distant memory.

The pain endured, a laughable side affect.

My self esteem, youthful want and complexion restored.

I unashamedly took my new face, gave into the vanity and flaunted it.