Unpretty

Unpretty - 7

I arrive at the institute 20 minutes earlier than my appointment time. 

Coming here was no easy feat either.

Unlike the other place that was located a few hours’ drive from the city, this is smack right in the middle of a business center.

If it wasn't so important that my life depended on it, I would have never gotten the courage to step out of my car.

 I get out with my shawl around my head and my shades once again.

In a hurried, almost sprint-like way, I reach the institute's office.

I sit in the waiting room with no other patient but me. 

I was told appointments are scheduled with huge time intervals in between.

People who want surgery prefer anonymity. 

A lot want to look different and would like to get rid of their flaws but no one ever wants to admit they have it.  Much more admit that they had or will have surgery done.

Contemplating on how contradicting human beings can be, I hear my name called and I am ushered into a room with a huge mahogany desk in the corner. 

Walls are lined with bookshelves and I can see framed certificates on the wall. 

I am ushered into another door by the side of the office. 

The door opens to a conference room where four doctors sit waiting for me.

The doctors tell me to sit and make myself comfortable. 

They introduce themselves one by one and then ask for my name.

They ask me why I am here and if I was sure of it.

I immediately answer them with no hesitation.

I am here because I want to change.  I want to be better.  I want to be normal.  And I am sure this is what I want.  As sure as the sun rises everyday.

And then I am asked to remove everything that covered my face. 

With shaking hands I remove them and place them on the table. 

I sit at the head of the table, all of them looking at me and me feeling like a cornered animal. 

 The doctor explains that my face will be initially examined and that I will have to perform tests.

I sign a contract, the contents of which I read but cannot remember.

One of the doctors, a woman with brown hair tied in a tight bun starts to examine my face from side to side.  She gently touches parts of my face and scribbles something indecipherable to me in a pad.

When will my surgery be?  I anxiously ask.

One of the doctors answer me that no surgery can be performed until they receive and have thoroughly studied my records.

The records from the previous center that I had my surgery done.

 This starts a minor panic in me as I realize that they might not fix my face. 

Simply because the doctors on the center said it was fatal to go further.

I decide to attack the situation and tell the doctors about it. 

 Find a way around it; Come up with a solution.  Do whatever it takes. 

I tell them all of these as I put on a straight face and try so hard not to sound desperate.

But under the table my hands are shaking and my heart is beating so hard it’s almost painful.

That is what the tests are for, they simply say.  To determine which way and how we will go on.

Every person is uniquely structured.  Therefore every procedure done here in the institute is uniquely designed to suit the patient’s needs.  Understand that every patient is important to us and we have to make sure everything goes smoothly.

Make sure at the end of these all I can have my face fixed.  That's all I care about, I say.

We will review your records thoroughly, we assure you of that.  Until then, you do the tests and wait, they patiently reply.

I realize there’s nothing more I can do or say now so I nod in agreement and go through the motions until every test is made and I am free to go. 

I am scheduled for another appointment four days from now. 

Until then, all I can do is wait;

Wait like a convicted felon silently wishing I get to go out in the world, free like any other human being rather than be stuck in my prison forever.