Maybe now that I looked more relaxed, I would be more relaxed, like I was 25 and still had several years to blow. I realized that the molecules of plastic in my skin would find some affinity with the rest of me, and I would prevail. Artecoll, this weird artificial substance that lay just under my skin, couldn't compete with this feeling. I knew that the following morning, I would pick my daughter up from Grandma's, and we would go down to the river and practice rock skipping. Miranda Lee is a freelance writer in Northern California.
Plastic surgery leaves a hole in the soul.