My 50th birthday year Botox disaster and how to avoid the same mistake

Fifty. Half a century. And I decided the only way to mark my 50th year on this planet was with a little Botox. I’d scoured reviews, found a reputable clinic, and somehow convinced H that I absolutely, desperately needed this ‘little’ lift, despite the bill making him audibly gulp. For me, it wasn’t vanity so much as a confidence booster, a fresher face, maybe even a hint of youth. And if truth be told, a former boss had once remarked that I always looked worried whenever I went into his office, so perhaps this was just my attempt to stop the “oh no, what now?” expression from sticking around for another decade.

Day 1: things on the up

Brows lifted, coffee in hand, I studied my reflection in the mirror – probably more times than a sane person should on day 1. I was impatient, waiting for something dramatic to happen. But anyone who’s had Botox knows patience is a virtue and results don’t show instantly. Husband nodded politely when I returned home. Friends didn’t notice a thing. But I felt better, smug even, handing out the practitioner’s business card like a walking testimonial. My purse smarted, but my ego glowed. It was perfect, or so I thought.

Day 5: the initial twitch

Everything was going smoothly until a tiny flicker in my eyelid suggested otherwise, I ignored it. I had gym classes to get to. But I didn’t yet know this little twitch was the start of a month-long midlife spectacle.

By midday, my eye was stinging and watering a bit. I found myself staring at the mirror more than usual, wondering if my eye was actually OK because I was starting to look a bit startled. I sipped coffee, told myself it was “temporary” and the other side would catch up soon. But I was starting to feel like a personal trainer for an extremely uncooperative muscle.

“I found myself staring at the mirror more than usual, wondering if my eye was actually OK.”

Day 10: Botox ptosis

Then came the stretching. Not drooping, oh no, that would have been dull, but stretching, like my eyebrow was doing its own Pilates class. At 2am, I found myself Googling “Botox ptosis,” I discovered yes, it happens, yes, usually temporary, but no guarantees. Looking in the mirror, I found a gallery of modern art staring back at me. By now I was alternating between acceptance and panic. Back at the clinic, the aesthetics practitioner examined my elevated brow confirmed it was ptosis, but admitted she’d never seen a case quite as dramatic. The solution was a carefully placed extra injection of Botox to coax the muscle back into line.

Botox done wrong…

When Botox is done right, it’s the best feeling in the world. When it goes wrong…well, it’s a cautionary tale. Excessive brow elevation, unnatural shape, and a frozen forehead.

Do your homework. Ask your injector what product they’re using, and confirm it’s genuine. Trust me: seeing that little vial in your hand feels more reassuring.

Day 12: desperate creativity

I tried everything to make it go away: hot compresses, gym to sweat out the toxin, dry eye drops, even a tiny extra nudge of Botox. I hid behind over-sized glasses on work video calls, and styled my hair into a dramatic sweep over one eye because there was a work photoshoot looming. The comments rolled in, everyone was giving me tips and all trying not to add to the panic. And if that wasn’t enough, there happened to be a dodgy batch of Botox circulating in the North East, splashed across every news channel. Cue an anxiety attack and me filling out a Yellow Card form, just to be on the safe side.

“Dodgy eyebrows are temporary. Stories and selfies last forever.”

Four weeks later…

Thankfully the extra Botox touch-up worked and my eyebrow stopped lifting and started to slowly, albeit very slowly drop back into it’s natural position. Finally my reflection looked fairly normal again. Would I do it again? Absolutely, but perhaps with more caution, and a small bottle of eye drops within reach.