Dr. Nipandtuck’s hand held me hostage at the light switch. I knew he didn’t want me to peek in the mirror, but it was my face on the line after cosmetic surgery. What woman couldn’t resist the temptation?

Dr. Nipandtuck persuaded me to leave the bathroom mirror, and we returned to the kitchen table. He took his professional scissors and snipped away my bandages. What would he find? Would I be scarred for life?

I panicked. I grabbed the scissors from his hand, and demanded he come clean and tell me the truth.

“Now, Sheeva,” his reassuring voice mesmerized me. I hung on every word he uttered. “Do you remember the first time you came to me? Have I not puckered your lips to perfection with collagen? Who gave you your first botox injection? Do you remember your tummy tuck? I carried you to the car at no extra charge. Remember how alarmed you were at first when we did the breast implant? Trust me, Sheeva. I’m a highly insured plastic surgeon.”

I asked him, “Why do you keep staring at my face. Why are you so concerned?”

“Because,” he answered, “you are healing faster than average.” Then he told me he wanted to do a before/after surgery document with me as his patient. He told me I looked great, and my scar tissue looked even better!

I beamed at my scars. I may be a model in The American Medical Association Journal! I wondered who the photographer would be.

I promised Dr. Nipandtuck I would make a morning appointment for him to cut away some more of my bandages. I was confident as I locked the door and joined Spot to fall asleep on my bed. Sweet dreams for the new Sheeva.