Anyway, for those of you who are new, I am over sixty and a competitive ballroom dancer. This may bring up images of little old ladies walking around the floor with their handsome young teachers while waltz music is playing, however. . .
At 5’8″ I am hardly little. (Notice I skipped right over the old part) and the only walking my partner/teacher and I do is between “rounds” to cool down. A “round” is composed of 4 or 5 dances depending on the category and for amateurs like me each of the dances lasts a little more than a minute and a half.
Oh well, you say, is that all? The problem is that each dance is like sprinting for over a minute with 20 seconds between dances. My teacher is in his early fifties and in better shape than most guys in their twenties (he does P-90 X regularly) and he is out of breath when we’re done. I am gasping for air.
Now that you have some context, let’s go back to the eyelids. When the doctor came in I didn’t actually start with the eyelid situation. I was pretty sure that would involve scalpels and anesthetic and stitches and bruising and I wasn’t at all sure I was ready for that. Instead I asked if he could get rid of the spots on my back. Before I tried on my first competition “gown” I had no idea I even had spots on my back. They were behind me, you know?
The dress was mostly rhinestones and blue velvet, a plunging neckline and a hemline that rose from my calf to my, well, way above my knee, and there was no back at all from the waist up. Oh dear. (I found the dress in the photo above a few years later. I did not save pictures of the first one!)
When I walked out of the closet/dressing room and turned around, my teacher sucked in his breath and said, “oh, my, you have a lot of spots.” Yikes! And here I was thinking that my biggest problem was my stomach!
Back to the good doctor. He said he couldn’t do much about the spots but knew someone who could (another story). I paused and just as he was about to leave, I said, “there is this other problem.” I pushed up on my eyelid.
He smiled and assured me that fixing my eyes was really no big deal, BUT he said, if he were me, he’d do something about the permanent frown between my eyebrows. Rats! Another flaw I hadn’t noticed. He held up the skin on my forehead with a Q-tip (or something about that size) and my whole face changed.
Next thing I knew I was in the outpatient wing of a hospital with an IV stuck in my arm.