To Botox or not to Botox, that’s the question.
Obviously the answer is to Botox.
Obviously.
Except the last time I got Botox I ended up at urgent care.
First, I want to make it clear that I’ve gotten Botox dozens of times. Dozens. I started when I was in my thirties when I didn’t really even need it. (It was preventative!) I’ve also gotten filler, lasers, and liposuction on my chin before. I’m no stranger to cosmetic procedures.
It was before the pandemic and my forehead had seen better days, so I went to a Beverly Hills plastic surgeon (a real doctor, not a MedSpa) to get it done. He asked me if I wanted a little bit of movement or none at all, and since it had been awhile, I said, “Freeze it up!” And that mother fucker did.
Botox takes about a week to work so the the first couple days were no big deal. But by day five or so, I started to worry. My forehead and eyelids were feeling heavy, and it hurt when I moved my eyes to left or right to look at something next to me. Of course, I started to panic.
I have a history of panic attacks that started when I was in my twenties. My freak-outs are funny in hindsight because they’re almost always irrational, but in the moment they’re anything but. In fact, one of
’s favorite stories is when I happily applied press-on nails with super glue at the beginning of one of our Friday night zoom calls, announced they were starting to hurt by the end, and was hysterically trying to remove them with soapy water on the floor of my kitchen at two AM.The only way I can explain it that when I can’t undo something that’s happening to my body, I feel suffocated, almost claustrophobic, which is what happened with the nails — and the Botox. I had clearly gotten too much and couldn’t undo it. And my fear was that it was only going to get more intense. What if by morning I couldn’t open my eyes? What if it overtook my entire face? And then my head? WHAT IF THE FREEZING NEVER ENDED?!
I’m getting nervous just thinking about it.
By day six, I was in tears on the floor of my friend Patty’s office on the Paramount lot where I worked. I couldn’t move my eyebrows at all and was pretty sure my whole head was next. Everyone that came into her office was like, “What’s wrong with Karyn?”
She got too much Botox.
“It looks great though.”
I know!
And that was the thing — it did look great.
Eventually I got so upset that my friend Rob decided I needed a doctor, so he loaded me up in his tiny Fiat and drove me to Hollywood Urgent Care. I tried to jump out of the moving vehicle on the way there (that car is so fucking tiny), but eventually we made it and I was led back to an exam room.
When the nurse came in she asked me what was wrong.
“I got too much Botox and I can’t move my forehead.”
“Isn’t that the point?”
“Yeah, but what if it doesn’t stop? What if I can’t move my head tomorrow?”
The nurse went to get the doctor. When she returned with him, the doctor said that he couldn’t help me and — get this — that I needed to go to the emergency room.
“The emergency room?!”
If I could’ve opened my eyes wider, I would have.
“Yes,” he said. “You could have botulism poisoning and that’s very bad because you could die.”
Now, I’m no medical expert, but it was pretty clear that I was having a panic attack and you know what you don’t say to someone who’s having a panic attack? THAT THEY COULD DIE.
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