When I looked into the mirror, I found that it peered back at me with an unpleasant quirk.
One takes their face at ‘face value’ until that funky little bump on the left cheek has begun to get swollen and pinker. Time to go to the doctor. Said doctor prescribed a very nasty antibiotic and sent me home. To no avail. So the next step in the quest for getting my real face back, was a dermatologist. Some snipping, (after numbing shot, of course), and pressure on the swollen place, (ouch), and I went home with the bump still there and a half inch purple scar on my cheek. Ick.
Phase Two: The dermatologist contacted a Plastic surgeon at a familiar medical center, and the appointment for a facial surgery was made. Kevin and I drove down and landed at the admissions desk of the Plastic surgery section. God had made this appointment for me much sooner than I expected, and I was both scared and grateful. The idea of having my cheek undergo surgery while I was awake was off-putting, indeed.
The sweet gal at the admissions desk looked puzzled when she couldn’t locate my name in her system. “Strange”, I told her. “The hospital called to confirm yesterday.” More searching, with my drivers license in her hand, “Well, I do have a Deborah with a different last name here”, she offered with a weak smile.” Then she popped up with another surprise, quite another Deborah with another last name, too.
“Um, that first one was my first married name, and the other one my maiden name,” I told her. “Deborah Dougherty is my present married name,” While she checked it out, I realized that I had not been this hospital complex since I had given birth to my youngest daughter many years earlier. Well, that name is listed as an alias.
I had to laugh a bit. My present name is an alias? I felt like a secret agent. A spy with an appointment to see a plastic surgeon. This will make a funny blog. A peculiar intrigue to spice up a simple tale of a facial repair.