I decide to go ahead with it. After all, my dreamboat dermatologist Dr. Rosen at Dermetics Centre for Advanced Skin Care and Cosmetic Surgery in Burlington, Ontario, uses Botox. He actually injects it into himself. And before he injects it into me, he gives me the low down. "In terms of the side effects, you can always get bruising," he explains. "You're going to have a few little red spots from the needle, but those will go away within an hour. Some people get headaches afterwards but that happens very rarely," he says.
He confirms with me that I'm not pregnant or taking antibiotics and checks that I don't have a family history of multiple sclerosis or cerebral palsy. I read and sign the consent form while he prepares the goods.
"The other thing is that you can't touch the area for four hours. You could get a lazy eyelid," he warns.
Wait . . . what?
The freak-out
The lazy eyelid bit tips me into an eruption of nervous laughter. Horrified, terrified nervous laughter. It is, in fact, the frantic cackling of a person who is suddenly afraid that she is making a terrible mistake.
But it's too late now to sprint out of the office. I've signed the consent form. He's filling a syringe. It's on. I lean back the reclining chair and try to avoid thinking of nature punishing me for my vanity by cursing me with lazy eyelids.
The procedure
Dr. Rosen swabs my brow. "Get angry," he says. I frown. "Relax," he instructs. I comply. Needle goes in. Squish. Needle comes out. Repeat. The injections take about five minutes. As long as you're okay with needles, there's really nothing to it. The worst parts are the injections around the tender temples to treat crow's feet.
Afterwards, Dr. Rosen tells me to make a lot of facial expressions because moving the muscles will help with the Botox uptake. He reminds me again not to touch it. "Also, don't lie down for the next four hours," he says. "And no vigorous exercise."
No problem.
The results
It takes five days for the effects of Botox to start showing. Luckily, the droopy eyelid never materialized, nor did any of the other possible side effects and I'm delighted with the results.
A week later, I'm back for a checkup. All is well with my procedure and they take 'after' photos of me making three different expressions: normal, angry, and eyes tightly shut. It's not until I'm posing for the photos that I realize I can no longer make my angry face. My eyebrows refuse to furl. No matter how I contort my face, it will not scowl. It's hilarious, but in a way I'm glad that Botox is temporary.
Since coming to terms with my age, I'm no longer complacent in the face of anti-aging ads. But since undergoing Botox, I'm smug in the satisfaction that I didn't get taken in by a slick sales pitch for a high-priced product with huge promises and unintelligible results.
Of course, I still got taken in. But the product worked.
Jennifer Villamere is Canadian Living's senior web editor.
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