It’s Friday. You know what that means. It’s time to hear from our friend, ID Collection’s Jim Williamson. Recently, while enjoying a Sunday afternoon in Fair Park, my friends and I decided to stop in at Craft and Growler. It was fun. We posed for pictures and posted them to social media, like you sometimes do when you’re having fun. Unfortunately, the result of one particular self-portrait featured a certain body part rather prominently. It had implications that I certainly was not expecting. It revealed something I certainly didn’t want people to see. I am speaking, of course, about my dreaded double chin.
At first, I was in denial.
Denial finally passed, and I started thinking: What do I do about it? Where do I start? And what if I start undergoing work—and just like on Property Brothers—and they tear something out only to find something else wrong? I called my good friend, Dr Vu Ho, and made an immediate appointment for a consultation to see what we could do about my little friend. We talked, we looked, we pulled, and we decided I was a good candidate for Lazer Lift. Basically, this is lipo for a double chin.
Here is how it went down the day of the procedure.
I arrived, checked in, and posed for “before” pictures. I posed for photographs facing this way and that way and the other way. Then I positioned myself in the surgical chair and ingested a cup full of pills. Now mind you, this cup o’ pills would have knocked the average person out in minutes. I am not an average person. I was more like some kind of wild game (non-endangered) that would not go down. In my pharmaceutically induced haze, I could have sworn I heard a gamekeeper scream, “Shoot it again with the dart gun! We don’t want this one waking up!” Then I saw an intense, bright light followed by more flashes of light. It was not a near death experience. It was merely the camera man setting up to film the procedure.
I finally started to feel the medication kick in. I liken it to a 1990s experience. It’s very much how I imagine Lilo, Amanda, and Culkin must feel all the time—wrapped up in one turkey neck. I was asked to speak to the camera, and I have no idea what I said.
Dr. Ho began the procedure while talking to the camera. I could feel the procedure, but I was definitely not in any pain. The procedure involved creating three tiny incisions that the doctor could enter to “clean up” that chin and neck area. After approximately 45 minutes, my head was bandaged and I had something similar to an igloo strapped to my chin.
Post-procedure, my partner drove me to In-N-Out. Yes, after all that I wanted an In-N-Out. Please remember that by this time, it was a almost 4 pm, and all I had ingested that day was a piece of toast at 6 am. Sadly, I don’t remember eating the hamburger. I do remember waking up much later, wearing an ice pack (which had somehow moved to the top of my head) and mustard.
My partner is super sweet the majority of the time. Let’s remember that he drove me to and from the procedure, and he made sure that I had food. But do you think he was going to let my bandaged face keep him from having fun? That would be a giant NO. In fact, I don’t think I have ever seen anyone get ready and leave the house quite so quickly. Now normally, if I don’t feel well or have to stay home to recover for some reason, I am pretty low maintenance. Just knock on the bedroom door, shove the food tray in quickly, and leave. But after hours of being alone—which seemed like an awfully long time to eat Mexican food, by the way—I get a text message from a friend. It was a video, really. My partner was apparently dancing at It’ll Do. I guess you could call is dancing. It really looked more like two chickens fighting. But trust me when I tell you this, when you just had your chin removed and have an igloo strapped to your face, seeing you partner out dancing with someone else… It’s not good.
I think of the four nights I had to stay home, he was out three. The fourth night he had to “recover”.
Anyway, back to my chin. I didn’t dare look under the bandage until the next day when I drove myself back to the office. What did I see when the big reveal happened? Some red and swollen skin. Honestly, I couldn’t tell much one day out. The doctor gave me what looked like spanks for the face and told me to wear them for a few days. It really was little wonder that Mr. Funky Chicken was out every night.
All’s well that ends well. I now see a lot less of that chin. And in a few months, I hope to see even less. So there you have it. Now when I see a commercial for Butterball turkeys, my hand won’t immediately reach for my chin. Life here on earth comes with gravity, but life here in Dallas gives us the best doctors to fix the effects of that gravitational pull (aka: age). So I hope you will all join me, along with the rest of the staff, as we bid a fond adieu to my old chum of a chin. Cheers, buddy. I will not miss you.
