CHAPTER 16
All the things that had gone wrong in my life seemed to be reflected in my face: the failed marriage, the miscarriages, the debts, my mother and father gone, my brother Roger and sister Pamela dead prematurely, and now the trouble over my failed relationship and ‘Four Winds’. My rallying career was over and I didn’t regret one minute of it, but it had taken its toll. I had always been in the public eye for one reason or another, and now when I saw myself on television or in press photographs I cringed. I took to wearing high-necked tops to hide my neck and those jowls that I had inherited from my mother. I kept trying to think of ways to somehow reinvent myself, make some money and pay back the loans, but as I looked in the mirror at my wrinkles, I was in despair.
My low self-esteem was affecting every aspect of my life when my good friend, Eileen Murphy, told me that Highgate Private Hospital in London and the Irish Independent newspaper were offering me the opportunity to have cosmetic surgery. I don’t know why they chose me. Maybe it was because at that time I was an ageing minor celebrity in Ireland and they thought it might be good publicity. In any case, I didn’t question their choice and jumped at the chance, without knowing what exactly I was letting myself in for. This was a gift from heaven: cosmetic surgery, all flights to London paid, how could I refuse? If I had to pay for it myself, the cost would have been over £5,000, which I certainly didn’t have. I had been unhappy with my looks for years and now here was a chance to rejuvenate myself. At 59 years of age I needed something to make me feel good when I looked in the mirror. Could this be it?
In November 1996 I went to London and presented myself for assessment by the surgeons. Cosmetic surgery was not widely available in Ireland and I knew very little about the procedure or the likely results. I asked some questions and learnt that plastic surgery had first been used in 1915 on soldiers who were disfigured in the First World War. The surgeons assured me that in the United States and the UK it was commonplace and I had nothing to worry about.
One of the surgeons was British and the other Indian, and between them they decided what procedures would be appropriate. The first man said he was going to cut around my ear, pull up the skin and remove the excess, giving me a smoother, leaner look; the other would perform surgery on my inner and upper lids, laser off the top layer of skin and remove three little moles from my cheek. The surgeons warned that I would experience swelling and that I would never be able to sunbathe again without a very high factor suncream. I asked when I could expect to see the results and I was told that it would take three months to heal altogether but that I could expect to see the difference in about six weeks. I felt I could trust them and agreed to go ahead without looking for advice elsewhere. In any case, I didn’t know anyone who had undergone such a procedure. It’s not exactly the kind of thing you tell your friends; people tend to keep it a secret.
My stay in hospital was scheduled to take three days. In early December I packed a few things and set off for what I hoped would be the start of a new life and a new face. For the first part of the procedure I was sedated, and I seem to remember that Beethoven was playing in the background, until suddenly my eyes opened wide. I had become fully conscious and I could feel the cutting of the skin around my ear. I was terrified and as I saw the look of horror on the surgeon’s face he promptly put me under again. The second part of the treatment, my skin and eye surgery, was performed under general anaesthetic, so I didn’t see or feel a thing.
In bed that night, I had to sleep sitting upright, with two pillows positioned under my head to help reduce the swelling. On the first day after the surgery I slept most of the time as the nurses smeared what felt like Vaseline on my face. Next day I was encouraged to walk up and down the corridor as a precaution against blood clots. I was miserable and even when Eileen telephoned I couldn’t speak as my jaw was wrapped in bandages and I could hardly move it. For that reason, too, I couldn’t eat but just sipped the nourishment they were providing through a straw. I kept asking myself, why had I done this and was I ever going to look and feel any way normal again?
Three days after the surgery the bandages were removed, and I could barely see. I was convinced that it had all gone terribly wrong. There was a stinging sensation all over my face and the stitches around my eyes were unbearably painful and itchy. When I looked in the mirror and managed to squint at my reflection, I was so shocked by what confronted me that I nearly fainted. The nurses were supportive and reassuring and said that this was to be expected. They reassured me that they were the normal side effects of the procedure and that I’d be right as rain after a few weeks. I wasn’t convinced as all I could see were the swelling and blotches so I decided to stay at the hospital for a further two days – I just couldn’t face the world outside that hospital looking like that. Of course, I had to leave eventually so I pulled myself together for my flight back to Dublin. Although I had a scarf around my face, dark glasses and a big coat with the collar turned up, the air hostess asked me if I had been in an accident. Accident! It was no accident, I had done this to myself deliberately, and I felt so embarrassed.
In hindsight, I should have stayed at the hospital longer. Back home in Dublin, the house was cold, I was all alone and missed the dogs, who were being cared for by my neighbour. I sat in the house feeling exhausted and very sorry for myself. It wasn’t just the physical pain; I was in emotional distress and ready to cry at any moment. Worst of all, I knew that whatever I was feeling, it was my own fault: I had accepted the invitation to get cosmetic surgery and now I had to live with the consequences.
When I was in the hospital I had people around me, but now at home all alone I was miserable. I couldn’t bear to look at myself and wanted no one to come near me. When I did force myself to look in the mirror, I was horrified by what I saw: my face was bright red and my eyes were emitting a horrible discharge. I telephoned the hospital for some comfort and they told me it was to be expected, but I wasn’t convinced. The eyes became worse and I was frightened that I would lose my sight.
Half-blind and still wearing my big dark glasses, I returned to the hospital on 22 December to get the stitches removed. My eyes were puffed up and partially closed and they discovered that the cream I had been told to use on my face had got into my eyes and infected them; an antihistamine prescription helped to sort that out. Still, I looked a sight and would really have preferred just to go home in my wretchedness but I had been invited to spend Christmas Day with my good friend Pauline Gullick in Bristol.
Pauline met me at the station, and although she tried to hide her shock when she saw me it was written all over her face. She and her husband were so kind to me and looked after me with love and affection, which I sorely needed. Having lost my close family, good friends like Pauline are so important to me. She tended to the wounds on the back of my neck and helped me to see light at the end of the tunnel.
I went back to the hospital in February 1997 for the last time and by that stage was beginning to see the benefits of the surgery. A few weeks later I went to a dinner dance wearing a long, low-cut dress that I hadn’t been able to wear for years because of my crinkly old neck. I was confident and felt attractive again. I enjoyed the admiring glances, which I hadn’t had in a long time, and all the invitations to dance were gratefully received. That dance was the defining moment when I knew without doubt that having cosmetic surgery was the right decision. I wanted to look my best for as long as I could and I embraced the new, younger-looking me.
Does it sound shallow that I put so much emphasis on my appearance? I suppose it does, but I had always been known for my looks and that is a big part of who I am. I was convinced now I could do whatever was required of me to survive for the next chapter of my life.