Online Reporter
I was flying over 2,000 miles from my home in Kentucky to a Beverly Hills clinic in California, for a facelift, aged 71.
Alongside my excitement, there was a poignancy to my journey, too. It was only possible because I’d lost my wonderful husband Max, and the money I’d inherited was paying for my surgery.
I’ve always looked after myself – working out, eating well and dressing smartly. And until around 63, I was very happy with what I saw in the mirror.
In my 50s, people used to mistake me and my daughter for sisters, and aside from some facials and peels, I’d never had any tweakments or surgery.
Within a few years of my 60th birthday, however, the effects of ageing began to do their worst. My skin sagged, I had crow’s feet, jowls and bags under my eyes.
After serving in the US military for 21 years, reaching the rank of master sergeant, I then joined the postal service and colleagues would ask: ‘Are you OK?’ because I always looked sad, despite being a positive person.
I hated the fact my appearance no longer matched who I was on the inside, and although I tried Botox and fillers, I didn’t like how they made my face feel.
By 65, I really wanted to have a facelift, but I simply couldn’t afford it, so it was nothing more than a dream. Max knew how I felt, but he insisted I was beautiful as I was and didn’t need surgery.
Then, in 2022, Max died, aged 67, after a long battle with cancer. We’d been together since 1989, and I was devastated to lose him.
The first two years after his death, I was mourning and kept myself busy using some of the money he’d left me from his life insurance, renovating my home and spending time with my three children and their families.
It was in April 2024 that my daughter said to me: ‘Mum, when are you going to do something for yourself?’ Then it came to me – with the money Max left me, I could finally afford a facelift.
It never crossed my mind that I was ‘too old’ for the procedure. I’d celebrated my 70th birthday the year before, but I felt much younger, and I don’t believe there should be time limits on feeling good about yourself.
So, after a lot of research, I decided to place my face in the hands of an LA surgeon, Dr Truesdale, who promised he could take 30 years off me!
The cost was around £77k, which was huge, but I believed Max would want me to be happy. Although family and friends were supportive, I did get the sense a few female friends were envious because it wasn’t something they could afford.
The day of the surgery in December 2024, I had no doubts or worries, I simply couldn’t wait to see the new me.
I was in the operating theatre for 7.5 hours and the surgery was extensive – I had a deep plane facelift, a forehead lift, upper and lower blepharoplasty to rejuvenate the appearance of my eyes, plus some fat taken from my stomach by liposuction and injected at the bridge of my nose where it had flattened.
Seven days after the op, I had the stitches removed and could begin to see what my face was going to look like. I was very pleased and knew it was only going to improve with time. My recovery took six weeks. I didn’t experience much pain, but stayed at home a lot, as my bruised face looked quite shocking. By the new year, my skin was more taut and I no longer looked miserable.
But I still looked like me – just a fresher, more youthful version. It had been worth every penny.
People have been so complimentary, telling me I look great, and although I’m happily single, I get more male attention since the op. It’s made me feel that perhaps one day, I might be open to dating again.
There used to be a stigma around older women turning to plastic surgery, but I think it’s becoming more acceptable. I certainly don’t feel ashamed – I feel empowered.
Women my age don’t care what others think, and we’re prioritising our health, looks and happiness in a way previous generations weren’t allowed to.
Now, I look in the mirror and see the best version of myself smiling back. – Sun Club
