Re: My First IPL treatment

[Guest guest]

Appropriate moniker, Lakewriter. Very nicely written!

You don't need ovaries of steel to sign a disclaimer. You aren't

signing away your right to sue, you're just signing a statement that

says that the doctor and/or designate discussed with you the risks

and benefits of the procedure. If they really did discuss the risks

and benefits with you to your satisfaction, then there's no reason to

feel uncomfortable signing. If not, then ask for clarifications

before signing. It's a good idea to have patients sign the consent

right before the procedure if possible rather than during the pre-op

visit, to create a comfortable opening for patients to ask all their

last-minute questions. It's not meant to be jarring (but I know it

can be).

Signing the form, of course, is separate from feeling uncomfortable

about the procedure itself. That's a reality for most of the

procedures discussed in this group, as they are still experimental

and/or too new to be well-studied for rosaceans. It is a gamble. I

sincerely hope it pays off for you and everyone in this group, but

the risks (or lack of benefits) of undergoing new procedures really

shouldn't be minimized.

If you do continue your treatments, , I hope you'll continue to

write about them.

Marjorie

Marjorie Lazoff, MD

> Friday afternoon I underwent my first IPL treatment in Toronto.

Here's my

> story:

>

> I wasn't nervous. Not until moments before the procedure when the

> receptionist handed me a disclaimer stating that there was a chance

of

> scarring. A minimal chance. But still a chance.

>

> I had met with the dermatologist a few weeks before and she had

assured me

> that none of her patients had scarred. And she had performed the

procedure

> on hundreds. But she didn't show me the disclaimer. Not then.

>

> Sitting in the waiting room weeks later, with the dry legal

document in my

> hand, I could feel my anxiety multiply like the bacteria count of a

> half-eaten hamburger in the sun.

>

> Should I go through with this? What if I am the first of her

patients to

> suffer scars? God knows how sensitive my skin is.

>

> The rational part of the brain, the side that motivated me to drive

240

> miles to Toronto, kicked in and reminded me " to have ovaries. "

(That would

> translate to " balls " if I were of the opposite gender.)

>

> So, with my ovaries in tact, I grabbed the pen and signed on the

dotted

> line.

>

> ++++++++++++

>

> I couldn't see a damn thing. I had a pair of lead goggles on my

eyes that

> made the world look like a black hole.

>

> " This is going to be cold, " said the doc.

>

> The next thing I knew, the doc was squirting globs of frigid gel

onto my

> face. The bottle made farting noises – like a half empty ketchup

bottle at a

> picnic.

>

> " Are you ready? " she asked.

>

> " Sure, " I said, my legs twitching with nervous energy.

>

> " It's going to be very bright, " she warned.

>

> A flash of intense orange light lit up my under-goggle view as she

aimed the

> beam on the outside of my right cheek.

>

> " Ouch! " I uttered.

>

> I had read that intense pulse light therapy felt like rubber bands

being

> snapped on your face. To me it felt more like hot zap. Not as

intense as a

> match being lit on my face, but more intense than an elastic.

>

> The sound it made reminded me of one of those old-fashioned flash

bulbs

> photographers use in portrait studios.

>

> " Are you okay? " she asked.

>

> " Yes, " I replied.

>

> When she reached the portion of my cheek nearest my nose, I

flinched.

>

> " It's a sensitive area, " she said.

>

> There was still another cheek to go, not to mention a nose and a

chin.

>

> " Oh, please let this be over soon, " I said silently.

>

> I endured another dozen or more zaps, before she gave me the

welcome news

> that she was done with me for the day.

>

> " Let me go and get a mirror, " she said.

>

> That must be a good sign, I thought. She wouldn't be getting a

mirror if I

> looked like the bride of enstein, right?

>

> Wow. No blisters. No bruises. Sure, with that goo all over it my

face I was

> as shiny as bald head in July and ya, it was a bit more red than

when I came

> in, but I didn't look that bad.

>

> Phew, I thought. No damage done.

>

> ****************

>

> Three days have passed and I wonder if I had forked out the $700 CAN

(plus

> tax) from my own bank account (insurance covered it), would I feel

let down?

> I keep looking at myself in the mirror. Closely. With bright

lights. Maybe

> my face is a bit smoother, or maybe it's my imagination. Maybe my

face is a

> little less red, or maybe that's just wishful thinking.

>

> I don't look much different, but hell, I'm not even supposed to

notice an

> improvement after one treatment anyway.

>

> At least next time I'll know what to expect. At least next time

I'll be able

> to crack a wee smile when the bottle of cooling gel farts in my

face.

>

>

>

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