Valerie after her Western surgery

Chapter Two: American and Chinese approaches to surgery
At 46, after a messy divorce I decided to again explore cosmetic surgery options, this time in Santa Fe. The surgeon was reputable and had a kind demeanor. His luxurious reception reminded me of my first encounter in Tennessee, but this doctor had more artistic sensibilities. Aromatherapy scented his plush lounge and pretty young nurses sat around his circular reception desk like elegant roses scattered on a well tended trellis. The doctor said, "The psychological reasons often influence the degree of satisfaction a patient experiences. I cannot take away unhappiness; I can only temporally reduce the aging process. What are your goals with the procedures?"
   "To look younger and more cheerful," I responded. "Please take away the bags under my eyes; people say I look tired and unhappy because of them."
    He agreed to do it, explaining that he would remove the fatty deposits under my eyes: genetic inheritances from my Sicilian grandfather. We agreed also to an upper eye lift at the same time, because they drooped slightly and reflected my age. The morning of the operation I pre-paid the entire fee: six thousand dollars. This included his operating theater (in-house) his operating nurse, a fifty something highly skilled surgical nurse who'd been with him over twenty years, the local anesthesia, powerful enough to put me out but not completely asleep, and the three follow-up visits to check on healing.
    My operation took three hours and forty minutes, with an additional hour of post-observation and rest. Afterwards I felt tired and the nurse gave me a glass of orange juice as I rested on a leather recliner. The medical ambiance: impersonal, swanky and sterile, hummed around me like a well cared for Mercedes.
    A friend drove me home. I slept for sixteen hours. For five days I stayed inside lying propped up, steadily bruising and swelling. My eyes swelled up like ping pong balls. My eye sockets glowed purple, black and banana yellow. The pain was minimal; Tylenol sufficed. After a month I looked normal again and years younger.

First Chinese surgery
On my 49th birthday I decided to try plastic surgery, Chinese style because I now live in China. My friend Miss Na agreed to help but she thought the surgery both painful and a waste of money. Weekly facials and manicures, as well as carefully applied makeup, are less invasive solutions for older women disliking their aging process. With typical Chinese politeness she had agreed to be useful but somehow never found the time to assist me, so I began independently researching cosmetic sites on the Internet. My computer led me to Dr. Li in a Chinese-American joint venture hospital in Bei Jing. In retrospect, this ordeal felt sloppy, disorganized and rather dreamlike.
    My goal was to surgically erase the frown line between my eyebrows, and perhaps get rid of a few more wrinkles around the eyes. The doctor's specialty was hand surgery, but she did face-lifts as well. Petite and fiftyish; with a dour face, she was harassed and overworked. Consulting her in January she exclaimed, "Your eyes are too damn big! And the eye bags need to be tightened up; it will make your face younger."
    "Okay, okay. Just get rid of the frown line, too," I answered.
    During this free consultation the doctor, scowling, had offered me a package; "I do the brow wrinkle, just make a little cut and pull, at the same time I do the eyes. Give you package deal; very good deal; 15,000RMB for everything." She commanded me to look into the mirror she was holding but kept moving the mirror out of my line of sight.    "Look in mirror, not at me!" she ordered. When I told her the mirror was out of my eyesight she scowled and ordered me to look anyway. Then she took pictures and consulted with two medical technicians.
    As she dismissed me I stuttered out, "But what about payment?"
   "You just bring cash the day we do it, no problem," she hissed, not lifting her eyes from the notes she was writing. Obviously, money was not her concern.
    Time passed. I felt very uneasy; there didn't seem to be enough recovery time to do this operation, and besides, the doctor and her two grim nurses did not respond to my repeated emails. Three days before the operation date the phone rang.
    "This is Dr. Li's nurse. You report here at 10:30 for operation, on Friday."
    "Whoa, "I replied. "No one has answered my questions since January. I'd like my questions answered first before the knife goes to the face."
    "I am busy!" screamed the nurse. "I call you now; that is enough. You come or no come?"
    "No come," I said, and hung up.

CHAPTER 1: West meets East
CHAPTER 3: First procedure in China
CHAPTER 4: Second procedure in China
CHAPTER 5: The end result

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