The 1st Attempt At Surgery

Plastic Surgery For A Kid...

I was only young when the doctors decided the best way forward for me was to try a form of plastic surgery known as a Lip Reduction. It was an experiment, no one knew if it would work but we were hopeful; more than hopeful really, we convinced ourselves that it was going to work.

I had been being bullied relentlessly at school and was desperate to look 'normal' again, to have my lips a normal size, not to be a walking target for every cruel child in Preston to make a beeline for. I was frightened, what child wouldn't be? Surgery was a big step but it didn't matter, nothing mattered but me getting rid of what made me 'ugly' and stopping the bullies once and for all. 

Before MRS arrived and changed my appearance forever

The surgery was scheduled and I started counting down the days to when my life would be happy again. I wanted to be able to look at myself in the mirror without feeling physically sick to my stomach to see who was staring back. I HATED myself, I didn't want to be me, I had never been a vain child, what I looked like wasn't that important; well I hadn't thought that it was until what I looked like made me a laughing stock.

I spent a lot of my time drawing and writing, solitary activities that I could become completely absorbed in, I could lose myself in creating pictures of cartoons, animals, princesses etc or I could live a different life through my stories; my hobbies were my escape and they were things that even I had to admit I was pretty good at so my confidence had a boost too.

When the day of my surgery finally arrived I was relieved, frightened of-course, but relief was my main emotion; it was finally all going to change. I would go back to school a new me, the old me, the one that existed before this monster took over. 

Melkersson Rosenthal Syndrome had altered my appearance so much that I actually despised what I had become, I had not yet come to loathe my photograph being taken, that would come later, but I did hide the photo albums if anyone came to the house, I did fear people seeing pictures that had already been taken. 

No child should feel that way about themselves, should be so embarrassed about what they look like, so ashamed that they beg their mum not to show anyone a single image of them, no child should be so humiliated by those images that they practically break down into tears at the mere thought of anyone looking at them. But that's exactly how it was for me and I'm pretty sure that would have broken my parent's hearts.

I knew that this operation would change everything, I knew that it would save me, so instead of going into the hospital crying and wishing it wasn't happening to me I went in eager to come back out again as a better version of myself. I didn't really know what to expect with regards to the healing process, to be honest I don't think that I gave it much thought, but what did happen was a nightmare.

My mum came down to the anesthetic room to be with me while I got put to sleep, the doctor had put on the obligatory 'magic cream' that numbs the back of your hand ahead of the general anesthetic injection. Mum was there to hold my hand as the solution was injected, but as I the liquid started coursing through my veins the sensation began to frighten me and I called out; "muuuuummmm..." as I fell into unconsciousness.

My poor mum must have been wildly upset, well she was certainly traumatized enough to get lost on her way back to the children's ward and wander through the fire doors setting the alarms off...

I imagined the surgery would fix me; I would be 'normal' again

When I came round from the surgery I was groggy but I felt the pain straight away, it was shocking how bad it was. My lips were swollen even bigger than normal due to the trauma of the operation, they had cut my lip across-ways and up the middle, removed excess tissue and sewed them back up, the stitches held my lips together and were pulled extremely tight to do so; I was in agony.

I could barely eat anything for weeks as I recovered at home, I would just sit in the armchair trying not to cry but the pain was immense and I was so young, still at primary school. As the swelling got worse the stitches stretched and pulled, it felt constantly like my lips were splitting open. I could taste blood all the time and my food had to be put through the food processor so that I could manage it.

The one saving grace was that I knew it would all be over soon and I wouldn't be bullied anymore, I would be happy again.

My lips were always so swollen because of the MRS

The problem was that after the stitches were removed, after the surgery swelling went down, my MRS swelling came straight back; to say that I was devastated is an understatement. I had to accept that I had been through all of that pain for nothing. My lips were swollen just like before and I was a victim again, of the bullies and of myself because I couldn't see past what I looked like, I couldn't see any good in who I was.

I had told the kids at school that I was going to be fixed, that when I came back my mouth would be okay again. I thought that I had been telling the truth but it turned out it was nothing but fiction; just like the stories I made up to escape from my life. I felt like a liar and a fool, I didn't expect things to be any better, I didn't expect the bullying to stop and I was right about that, the only difference was that it got worse.

I look back now, I see that little girl in my mind's eye and I desperately want to reach out to her and tell her that it is okay to be her, it's okay to be different and to accept herself. I want to tell her not to live in fear of what other people are going to call her, what they are going to shout at her in the street. I want to tell her not judge herself by what she sees in the mirror. 

I want to say that she is strong, that she goes through so much but that she survives it. I don't want to see that little girl sitting alone in the playground wishing she would just disappear. I want to tell her to make the most of every moment before it gets any worse. But maybe she would have just given up if she'd imagined it getting worse because even then it all seemed too much to cope with. 

I don't think I am a particularly strong person now, I still have very low self esteem, but I have gone from hiding the photo albums when people come round to being brave enough to post pictures on here. I have accepted that I am who I am and I cannot change that. I've come to terms with the fact that MRS altered my appearance and that I have no say in that but what I can control is my own reaction to myself. I can accept myself and I have.

Having said that I will not give up trying to get better, trying to find someone, somewhere to help myself and my fellow MRS sufferers to find a treatment that works or indeed a cure. I don't want to hate myself anymore but I do hate this illness and I hate that it has taken so much away from me and makes me so poorly and I will never stop trying to change that. But I have come to accept that my reflection is just a small part of who I am and that it isn't so bad; I just wear my war wounds for all to see and have a fair few that are hidden too.