In August 2005, I went to my colorist's house. As in most beauty salons in Southern California, the place was full of discussions on the latest tips and beauty aids. Among them, the "last thing", mesotherapy, healed my interest, as a mission of heat research with a target. The beautician and the girls did not dry up – how it shrank, tightened and smoothed your skin.
I am not particularly bad at looking, but I have this problem with my face. I have high cheekbones, which is a good thing, but the bottom of my panes is hollow. If you can imagine, I had shadows on my shoulders that distracted me a lot from my appearance. And I thought, "So let me see what mesotherapy is." I asked for the phone number and made an appointment.
After talking with the beautician (she was a medical assistant), we agreed that she would give me what they called a "meso-lift" on the cheeks. I was given the anesthetic cream and, a few minutes later, she injected a cocktail of different solutions that would probably reduce the fat cells (danger zone, I should have recognized it!) And of vitamins beneficial for my skin. She told me that with mesotherapy, I would have to expect a good swelling and some bruising.
Good amount indeed! Overnight, my face swelled like a chipmunk, like a helium balloon. I could not recognize myself! I've had a lot of brewing and swapping at the injection sites and all over my face where it has not even been treated.
Let me go back. When I made an appointment for mesotherapy, I have no intention of telling my husband. I had the impression of being able to remove this and explain the "slight" swelling and bruising to a bad facial procedure. Too bad for that! At night, the swelling was severe enough that my husband refused to take me to dinner. He told me that I looked like a battered woman! Lesson # 1: Never lie to your husband in case something terrible happens.
The next morning, the exchange was even worse. It was so bad that I did not want to go out. I made a call to the beautician. She said that swelling and bruising were normal with mesotherapy and that everything would be fine in two days.
The second day passes, then the third day. The swelling decreased, but slightly. I always had the impression that my face was stung by a swarm of bees. Even the bruises were still serious enough that I started to panic.
Fourth day … it's bad, I started thinking. I should go see her. I have therefore made the long drive from Garden Grove, where I live, to the deep south of Orange County. I was messy. I did not want anyone in the beauty salon to see my face, but it was not possible. Of course, there had just been no private entrance, so I was forced to bear the humiliation.
The beautician has said that some people are earlier likely to break and swell. All I could do was wait for it to go away.
I was fine two to three weeks before the swilling fell. But the discoloration, which I thought was bruised, did not completely fade. I now have even bigger and darker shadows on my shoulders – worse than before the start of Mesotherapy. I felt devastated.
I went back to see her again. She looked well at my face and told me that it was melasma. She said that mesotherapy did not cause discolouration and that melasma was more than likely due to hormonal change. Of course, I did not believe her. Hello? I did not have any discolouration before mesotherapy! And now I have it? The logic is that the discoloration is due to mesotherapy. She reiterated that there is no known fact that mesotherapy is the cause. I left his office as a victim of ruin, angry, depressed, and a part of me feeling guilty of my vanity that triggered everything. The thing that began as a quest for a little more beauty, which had turned into a quest to repair a mistake. The quest to look like me – as I did before mesotherapy.