Manufactured faces
by Elouise
Manufactured faces gaze
From magazines and brochures
Scattered around the waiting room
Wherever I turn my eyes
‘They’ smile knowingly
If not mechanically
Picture perfect features
Enticing sirens of perpetual youth
White skin gleaming
Radiant in life
And in death
What do they know that I don’t know?
Is this happy heaven or happy hell?
I seem to have lost my way.
It’s Friday, March 25. I’m sitting in a nearly deserted, picture-perfect, calm, shades of blue cool color-coordinated waiting room. Not, I’m sorry to say, the plastic surgery (yes!) waiting room above. A plastic surgeon, on site only once a week, is going to remove two suspicious growths from my skin. Due to unforeseen developments, the wait will be longer than anticipated.
Upbeat music plays relentlessly. Every chair, magazine table, shelf and counter space offers indoor advertising for the miraculous powers of plastic surgery and the good life. I search in vain for a normal magazine or newspaper.
Alas, I didn’t bring a book or even my iPad. All I have is my writing journal. Into which I enter the thoughts above.
An hour later, things finally get underway. I also learn a thing or two. The surgeon is probably in his late 30s or early 40s. I’ve often assumed plastic surgeons are in it for the money.
This one, however, doesn’t fit that stereotype. His primary work doesn’t involve what I’d call elective cosmetic plastic surgery for the wealthy seeking eternal youth, or even for the rest of us with routine things like suspicious growths. He does this only one day a week, at this site. A break from his demanding schedule.
The rest of the time he’s at a downtown university hospital doing what he loves most. A form of intricate, creative plastic surgery. Most of his patients are women who’ve had mastectomies or trauma victims whose skin needs repair. He loves the challenge of each case, and knowing that what he does helps people recover from life-changing events.
I left feeling chastened and grateful I’d heard a bit of his story. Well worth the wait.
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 27 March 2017
Photo of spectacular plastic surgery waiting room found pinterest
I had a surgeon like that 12 years ago, he saved/extended my life. He, before the operation, guaranteed me an extra 6 to 8 years by having a Brachytherapy operation.
I don’t know how or what I’d have collected had I died after 5 but I probably wouldn’t have cared.
I recall he was all masked up literally, preparing for a gigantic explosion which was to come when he removed the great block and nuclear rods from my rear end, and I asked him “Why do you do this? and he replied. “I like saving lives. Cosmetic surgery doesn’t appeal to me!”
My brother-in-law just 59 years has cancer and I hold out great hopes for him, for he is under the care of Doctor Fogarty, the man who saved me.
As an aside ; is that picture at the top really the waiting room?
If so I’d hate to pay the fees at that place 😦
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No, it’s from Google Inc! And yes, it’s the waiting room at a plastic surgeon’s office. Your Dr. Fogarty sounds like a winner with his heart in the right place.💜
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A marvellous man, absolutely no sides to him; straight as a die, he would have been in his early 40’s when he fixed my prostate cancer.
He was a great lover of Homer’s Iliad & Odyssey too, so we got on very well indeed. 🙂
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That is obscene for a waiting room at a surgery. What absorbent fees must be extracted from the willing patients there!
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For those who can pay to play, the sky’s the limit. Unfortunately.
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Yes but they really are devoid of taste.
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sounds like my kind of Doc, one with a true heart ❤ ❤ hope all is well with you beautiful lady ❤
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Taking it a little easy until the stitches decide they won’t bust a gusset!😊🎶
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