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Written by
Linda, it's
an account of how
she came to have
cosmetic
surgery, Inspired
by Cindy Jackson. A diary of the
events before and
after the
procedure and how
she felt about
it.
Print
this off and read
it by yourself,
because you will
be able to relate
to a lot of what
happened to
her.
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Published
in
Women’s
Journal
'December
1999'
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INSPIRED
BY
COSMETIC
SURGERY
QUEEN,
CINDY
JACKSON,
JOURNAL
READER
LINDA
BRIGGS,
45, DECIDED
TO
GET
HER
OWN
BACK
ON
NATURE
BY
BUYING
HERSELF
A NEW,
YOUNGER
FACE.
Photographs
by
EMMA
BOAM
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Below from
the left: Linda,
before surgery: ‘I
am not a hard
person but my face
looked very
stern’; recovering
on the day of
surgery; five
weeks later, with
a brand new face
and blonde hair
extensions: ‘My husband’s jaw
nearly hit the
floor’
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Linda
Briggs before and after surgery 1999
"THE first
grey hair appeared when I was 25, along with the
first wrinkle. I was having too much of
a good time to worry about it then, but at 27, it was quite a different matter
I'm getting old — I'm nearly 30" I wailed.
The
end of the world came with my 30th birthday, I didn't stop crying all day. I
wanted to be an eco warrior and go as wrinkled and grey as nature Intended, but
nature really screws things up when you're not paying attention.
I went for a new hairstyle and a new diet,
and my shelves were full
of Leslie Kenton's health
and beauty books. Start going to more
aerobics classes, I told myself, then at least you can keep your muscles
toned.
I
had always been fit and active, but as I approached 35
my metabolism changed. Now I needed more exercise just to stay
the same size. I hennaed my hair but it wasn't permanent enough.
Why did I have to look so old? Nature had no
right to do this to me.
My head still said I was 25 and I had the
energy of a 25-year old. I Just looked
older. I
Ignored my 40th birthday. I wasn't going to have a party to celebrate the fact that
I was getting
old. I accepted the presents but not he birthday.
Then,
in June 1997 I read a newspaper story about Cindy Jackson's cosmetic surgery.
She is one year two
months younger than me —
and she looks wonderful. I felt nothing but admiration for
her achievements.
She has done exactly what she wanted and made herself
beautiful Into the bargain.
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Inspired
by
Cindy Jackson,
I
stepped
up the
fitness
regime,
cut
out
all
the
unhealthy
food
and
bought
a book
called
Facercise
by
Carole
Maggio.
Following
the
book’s
instructions,
I’d
stand
for
hours
distorting
my
face
into
all
sorts
of
shapes
and
sizes.
I even
took a
photograph
before
I
started,
so I
could
see if
I was
making
any
progress.
I
stuck
to
this
for
months
and
yes it
did
make a
bit of
difference
but
nature
was
fighting
against
me all
the
time.
I
needed
something
more
drastic.
A
friend
recommended
a
course
of
electronic
face-lifts.
After
about
three
sessions,
I
caught
my
husband
looking
at me
intently.
When I
asked
why,
he
just
said,
"I’m
lucky
to
have
you."
So it
seemed
the
treatments
did
work
but I
could
still
see
the
ravages
of
time
trying
to
etch
their
way
across
my
face.
My
crow’s-feet
looked
like a
centipede
curled
around
each
eye
and my
hair
was
thinning
quite
rapidly.
I had
my
haircut
fashionably
short
and
wore
classic
clothes,
so I
looked
like a
smart
businesswoman.
People
would
occasionally
compliment
my
style
but
the
wolf
whistles
had
stopped
a long
time
ago
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Linda
Briggs tries
on
designer
dresses with
her
idol
Cindy
Jackson
<
Top
>
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THE FINAL
STRAW
I
thought
I was coping quite
well with ageing until
my younger sister’s
wedding. As we were
mingling with the
other guests for the
photographs, a friend
of my sister’s asked
if I was the bride’s
Mum. It was so
painful, I felt as if
I’d been stabbed. I
had just spent a
fortune over the past
three weeks trying to
look beautiful. I’d
had the full facial
treatment; eyelashes
permed and dyed, a
couple of electronic
facials. I’d had a
haircut and applied
anything else that
happened to be left on
the bathroom
shelf.
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I
began
to
have
doubts
about
how my
lack
of
confidence
in my
appearance
could
affect
my
job.
How
could
I
teach
other
people
to
have
confidence
(I
took a
year
off to
counsel
people
with
learning
difficulties)
if I
didn’t
like
myself
the
way I
was?
I
began
to
scan
the
cosmetic
surgery
ads in
the
Yellow
Pages,
dismissing
some
instantly
because
they
were
vulgar
or
tacky.
I saw
three
consultants
but
ended
my
search
at
……………………
because
I was
impressed
by
their
manner
and
the
way
they
handled
my
enquiries.
We
talked
at
length
and
they
suggested
upper
and
lower
eyelid
reduction
and a
lower
face-lift
to get
rid of
the
saggy
skin
under
my
chin.
I
didn’t
tell
my
husband
what I
was
doing
until
I’d
made
the
decision
to go
ahead
with
the
treatment
and
knew
how
much
it was
going
to
cost.
He
sulked
for a
couple
of
hours,
forbade
me to
do it,
wanted
to
know
all
the
pitfalls
and
said
he
liked
me as
I was.
"Isn’t
it all
a bit
drastic?"
he
asked.
"Of
course
it’s
drastic,
that’s
the
whole
point"
I
replied.
I
didn’t
have
to put
my
foot
down
very
firmly.
I just
said
‘It’s
my
face
and I
am
doing
it, so
get
used
to the
idea’.
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We
had
to
make
some
changes
to our
budget
because
we’re
building
a new
house
and
all of
our
money
is
being
sucked
into
that.
But we
decided
that
my
needs
were
greater.
Compared
to the
cost
of the
new
house
£4,800
was a
snip
for a
renovation
job. I
only
told a
few
friends
before
the
operation
and
responses
ranged
from
"You
vain
thing"
to
"You’re
very
brave".
My
mother-in-law
thought
I
should
grow
old
gracefully
and
not
waste
the
money.
The
day
before
my
operation,
I
arrived
at the
…………….
Clinic
at
about
3.30pm.
Any
doubts
I had
disappeared
after
one
look
in the
mirror
– the
saggy
skin
had to
go.
The
staff
did
everything
possible
to
reassure
me and
make
me
feel
comfortable
but I
sent
my
husband
away
because
he was
worrying
and
looked
as if
he was
about
to
have a
coronary.
He
kept
saying
he
didn’t
like
the
idea
of me
being
cut up
and
that
he
loved
me the
way I
was.
He
went
home,
only
to
ring
me
later
in the
evening
to say
he
missed
me.
<
Top
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THE DAY OF THE
OPERATION
My
consultant
visited me early
to discuss what I
didn’t like about
my face. Peering
over his glasses,
he scrutinised me
intently, pulled
my face this way
and that and took
some photographs.
When he walked
into the room, I
must confess to
feeling
apprehensive about
what sort of job
he would do. But I
watched his
actions and the
way he completed
his forms with
meticulous, neat
handwriting. No
need to worry, I
thought, if a
doctor writes like
that, then his
stitches will be
tidy. I no longer
felt nervous. I
just wanted to get
on with it.
The lady from
theatre collected
me at 1pm. We went
over the forms and
checked my ID
bracelet to make
sure I wouldn’t
come back with
breast implants
instead of raised
eyelids .I woke up
in my room at
2.45pm with the
nurse telling me
it was all over.
She had already
put pads on my
eyes, so I just
lay still. The
first thing I
noticed was that
my head felt
tight; I had a
crepe bandage
around it with
bits of hair
sticking up as if
I had put on too
much mousse. I
tried a drink of
water but couldn’t
manage the straw.
The right side of
my face felt as if
I had just come
home from the
dentist and I
couldn’t get my
mouth around the
glass without
dribbling.
The tingling in
my head wasn’t
painful; it was
just different. It
reminded me of
when my mother put
rags in my hair
when I was a child
to make ringlets.
When
Journal’s
photographer
arrived, I
remember thinking
that I must look
like I’d been run
over by a train. I
had to keep
putting cold pads
on the eyes to
keep the swelling
and bruising to a
minimum. Shortly
afterwards, my
husband walked in
with the largest
basket of flowers
I have ever seen.
He does everything
to
extremes.
<
Top
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THE NEXT
DAY
My
appetite
was back to normal and
after a good night’s
sleep; I was ready to
go home after
lunch.
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A nurse cut off the
bandages and helped to
wash the blood out of
my hair, so that it
would look more
presentable as I
walked out of the
hospital.
In the bathroom
mirror I could see the
left side of my face
and neck was swollen
but the right side had
escaped too much
bruising. There were
lots of stitches
around my eyes so
steri strips were put
on the top and bottom
eyelids to stop the
ends of the stitches
dangling across my
eyes and irritating
me. My hair was full
of staples just above
and behind the ears
but somehow I managed
to hide them with some
careful drying. I put
on my dark glasses and
ventured from the
room, hoping that I
wouldn’t see anyone.
The surgeon, bless his
heart, always gives
his ladies a big
bouquet of flowers to
take home and I was
very touched by the
gesture.
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When I looked in the
mirror at home –
peering through the
maze of stitches and
steri strips – I was
completely shocked by
the smoothness of my
skin. After years of
watching the wrinkles
creeping across my
face and my skin
sagging, it took some
getting used to. The
next thing I noticed
was that my hairstyle
was completely wrong
for the shape of my
new face. Previously,
my face was long and
saggy, now it was more
rounded.
The bricklayer who
was working on our
house came to have a
look at the state of
my face. He is a
well-tattooed chap and
by no means a wimp but
he was horrified by
the extent of the
bruising and stitches.
He thought I was stark
raving mad.
<
Top
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WEEK
ONE
I
find
that sleeping at home
is a bit more
difficult than
sleeping in a
propped-up hospital
bed. I can only lie on
my back, as it is too
uncomfortable to lie
on my ears. They feel
quite numb and on
close inspection I can
see there are stitches
all the way down the
front of them – I
hadn’t thought about
that. There is still a
lot of bruising and
dried blood around my
face – I look as if I
have been hit with a
plank of wood across
the left side of it.
Still no pain; just
that tender feeling
that goes with severe
bruising.
I have to shower and
wash my hair every day
in order to keep the
incisions clean until
they heal. I can’t
exfoliate my skin and
I’m not allowed to use
soap until the
stitches come out on
Friday, so my face has
started to resemble a
wall that had just
been stripped of
wallpaper and not
wiped clean.
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A
friend
wanted to visit to
have a look, so I
sneaked down to the
gate and left a key in
the lock so I wouldn’t
see any neighbours.
When she came up the
drive, I was playing
in the garden with the
dogs. She said, "it
doesn’t look like you,
it’s so
different." We
went inside and she
sat and stared at me
for about 10 minutes,
occasionally saying,
"I just can’t
believe it."
The staples in my
head are still very
tight and it makes
movement a bit
restricted. I feel
tired, partly because
I can’t get
comfortable in bed and
because my body is
trying to heal itself,
so I am taking it very
easy this week and
have told everyone
that I am away on
holiday. I am ignoring
the phone. Because of
all the hair washing,
my colour has faded to
a dark blonde instead
of a light brown and I
can see the roots
showing through. But I
will have to wait
until all the cuts are
healed before I dare
put any colour on
it.
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On
Friday
, I drove myself back
to the clinic to have
the staples and the
stitches removed. My
surgeon looked very
pleased with his
handiwork. The nurse
took about 40 minutes
to remove all the
staples and it
scarcely hurt at all.
She had a special
little tool that made
the job easier.
Removing the stitches
around the corners of
the eyes made me shout
a bit, though and my
eyes watered but that
has been the only
pain. I’d compare it
to having my legs
waxed or my eyebrows
plucked. When my
husband saw me that
evening, he said I
looked much better now
that the stitches had
been removed.
People’s reactions
have been really
interesting this week;
I was talking to a
young girl I know for
several minutes before
she realised it was
me, while many male
acquaintances stare me
in the eyes and make
far more conversation
than they used to.
Continued on Page
2
More
pictures of Linda with Cindy Jackson
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