In May last year, I got up one morning, looked in the mirror, and barely recognised myself. The face staring back at me had no discernible neck or jawline.
My face had sagged, and I had hanging jowls. My once-plump cheeks had sunk, and my cheekbones had vanished. I looked tired and sad all the time. People had started to ask, ‘Are you all right?’ and I’d say, ‘Yes, fine thanks,’ but I sensed they were asking because my face didn’t reflect the happy, vital woman I was.
Two years ago, at 61, I’d taken early retirement from my civil service project manager role, but when I told people I was retired, no one was surprised. People even started offering me seats on the Tube train.
Inside, I still felt mentally sharp, full of ideas and energy – I’m writing my first novel, a long-held ambition. I know that everything I’ve achieved in life is down to my brain, not my appearance, but when your reflection doesn’t match your inner-self, it’s about more than vanity. It’s about identity.
The woman in the mirror was starting to look like an old lady – and I wasn’t ready for that. I also knew it was only going to get worse from here.
I’d never had anything done at that point – treatments like Botox seemed expensive and inconvenient. I didn’t want ongoing tweaks, but what I did want was to look better. A facelift seemed like the procedure I needed – a one-time chance for lasting improvement. The truth is, ageing well matters. I’ve had cancer twice and never take life for granted. If I am lucky enough to have a long retirement, I want to get old in the best way possible and enjoy it.
We live in an ageist society, and I don’t want to feel as though people are writing me off with a glance at my face.
However, I also knew good surgery would be expensive. I didn’t want to risk my face or life by getting cheap surgery abroad. Neither did I want to land myself in debt.
Everything changed when I was offered that early retirement package just as I made my last mortgage payment.
Suddenly, spending £25,000 on a facelift seemed possible.
I talked to my husband, Vince, about it. I met him a little later in life, 18 years ago, when I was in my mid-40s. He’s younger than me – just turned 50, and I think that was part of it, too. I wanted to look more like his age. Not that he’s ever had a problem with how I look – he’s never been that shallow.
However, before I went ahead, I had to be 100 per cent sure that he was backing me. He admitted he was nervous at the idea of me having surgery, but he also knew how much my face was bothering me, and said it was entirely up to me, and he’d support me.
I started my research by googling ‘facelift surgeons’. One name kept popping up: Dr Yannis Alexandrides. He had great reviews, so I booked an appointment. That alone cost £350.
Of course, I asked him about other treatments – Botox, lasers and fillers – but he told me that while they make you look fresher, they’re temporary and that wasn’t for me. He said the only way to really impact the structure of my face and neck long-term would be with a deep plane facelift and a neck lift.
This type of work restructures and relocates the deep inner tissues, fat and muscles of the face. In fact, it’s widely considered the most advanced and sophisticated kind of facelift you can have.
As Dr Alexandrides explained it, it involves the lifting of what’s called the SMAS layer (Superficial Musculoaponeurotic System) – a network of connective tissue, muscle and fat that sits below the skin.
With age this weakens and thins, but a deep plane facelift releases the ligaments that anchor it and allows the surgeon to reposition the face exactly how it needs to be – moving it upwards, rather than backwards, which avoids the ‘wind-swept’ look. The skin is then draped over the newly reconstructed tissues.
The same type of facelift was recently made famous by the Kardashian matriarch Kris Jenner, though I had mine first!
After a week of thinking about it, I said yes. Then things moved quickly. It was just six weeks from the first consultation to surgery.
Because this was elective treatment, not a lifesaving procedure, I went through a battery of pre-op tests, including blood tests and for my heart, an ECG and echocardiogram, followed by an appointment with an eminent cardiologist to discuss the results. This all came at an extra cost – around £1,000 on top of the surgical fee.
As a cancer survivor, I find tests triggering. So much so, I nearly backed out. But there was that little niggling voice saying, ‘If there’s something wrong with you, you might as well find out.’ Fortunately, all was well.
My nerves also stemmed from worrying about the effect on Vince. When you’re with somebody you love madly, you can’t help but think, ‘What if something catastrophic happens? What if I don’t come round?’ We are so happy together, and the idea that anything I did would adversely affect him was awful.
I also chatted it through with two close friends who were very supportive. I didn’t tell anyone else as I felt it had to be our decision alone – mine and Vince’s. And in the end I knew he absolutely had my back.
I had my surgery in July last year. Because I live in Milton Keynes in Buckinghamshire, and had to be at the clinic in London at 7am, I spent the night before in a nearby hotel. I was apprehensive, but also excited.
I walked into the operating theatre to find giant pictures of myself from all angles printed out and taped to the walls, which was mildly shocking, but Dr Yannis said that, for the best result, it was important he could always see what I looked like when I wasn’t lying down and under anaesthetic.
I was told that the surgery took three and a half hours.
Afterwards, my face was swollen, red, and very numb. Vince was waiting for me as I came round. He didn’t look shocked, or make a single comment about my face, but simply asked me how I was feeling.
Once I was ready, Vince and I left the clinic and got a cab to the hotel where we were staying overnight to be close to the medical unit in case I had any complications.
When we eventually arrived home, I looked in the mirror. I was lopsided and blotchy, and my face and neck were lumpy with fluid retention.
I can see why people panic in those early days, but I’d been warned about this, and there was always a nurse at the end of a phone if I needed any help. To my surprise, there was no pain at all – and there never has been.
I had to return to the clinic to have a course of six lymphatic drainage facial massages to help the swelling and lumpiness go down. I also had laser light treatments to speed up healing and reduce scarring, plus a HydraFacial – a type of facial which uses jets of water to cleanse the pores and infuse active ingredients. These added another £1,000.
I couldn’t wash my hair for a week because the scars were healing, but after that it was fine. In fact, I recovered very well.
Within three days I was out walking our dogs, and six days later I hosted an old friend visiting from Canada. I told her I wouldn’t be looking my best, but I felt great. We went sightseeing and out for dinner, and nobody seemed shocked by my appearance. I gradually let those closest to me know what I’d done by sending them a brief message with a selfie of my face surrounded by bandages, saying, ‘I’ve only gone and had my face lifted’.
Everyone was fascinated – I’ve been bombarded with questions – but very supportive and not judgmental at all. They tell me, ‘I can’t get over how natural you look’, and several have said they’d love to do the same thing.
After two weeks, I was blown away by how much better I looked. It was as if I’d been able to reverse time. I felt reborn.
In November, we had a huge party for Vince’s 50th birthday. The facelift looks so natural, one of my nieces said to me: ‘You look fantastic. I think it’s the haircut. Have you got a new style?’ I laughed and said: ‘I’ll fess up. I’ve also had some work done.’ She said, ‘Oh, have you had your boobs done?’ It was very funny.
I’d tell anyone thinking about having this procedure that you need to clear your decks for two months from booking the surgery to going through the worst of the healing process.
The extras add up too. There are train fares, hotels and taxis, if you don’t live nearby. I’d say I spent maybe £3,000 on top of the surgery fee.
But I don’t regret a thing. I’m thrilled with the result. I didn’t want to look like a teenager or unnatural. My face is very expressive and I would hate to look frozen or stretched.
People think injectables are more natural, but I believe surgery can be. With a deep plane face and neck lift, it’s your own tissue moved back into place. If someone feels as miserable as I did when I looked in the mirror, I would 100 per cent say go for it.
Now, when I walk into a room, I feel confident again. Vince loves me however I look, but he’s happy that I feel so much better about my appearance.
We went on holiday recently, and when I saw the photographs, I thought we looked the same age, which was a huge boost.
In my younger days, I could turn heads. As a woman, you notice when all that stops. I was OK with that, it’s just normal. But now, it’s started again and I’m getting compliments. In the Post Office at Christmas, the young woman behind the counter looked at me and said ‘you’re very pretty’, which just didn’t happen before.
I love the fact that people are now visibly surprised when I say I’m retired. And nobody has offered me a seat on the train or bus recently.
Having a deep plane facelift has been empowering. Cancer can make you feel as if you aren’t in charge of your body. It can also age you. I feel like I’ve taken control of myself, my body and my life.
Now, when I look in the mirror, I don’t see a sad old lady; I see me and that makes me happy.
A deep plane facelift with Dr Yannis Alexandrides costs from £25,000, 111harleystreet.com
As told to Leah Hardy
