Monster in the mirror
I’d never worried about my looks, then everything changed
Lisa Monn, 27
Pulling my hair into a ponytail, I checked my reflection in the mirror. That’ll do,
I thought.
When it came to getting ready, I was pretty low maintenance.
Preferred the natural look to layers of foundation. It was August 2017, and I was training to be a physiotherapist.
When not studying, I was doing something active, from yoga to triathlons. Today, I was going cycling with my friends.
No need to get dolled up for that.
By 6pm, we set off home down a long, windy road.
‘Meet you at the bottom,’ I yelled, whizzing off.
I got stuck behind a car.
The road was narrow, I couldn’t overtake.
I tried to keep my distance.
But the car pulled to one side and slowed down.
Brilliant, he’s letting me overtake, I thought.
I pulled out and sped up, then immediately realised my mistake.
The car wasn’t letting me overtake.
He’d pulled to the side to make room for a bus to pass on the other side of the road.
It was heading straight for me. Swearing,
I didn’t have time to think.
Pulling at my brakes,
I skidded and slammed into the back of the car.
Pain seared through me as I smashed into the rear windshield.
The force rolled me over and I landed on the side of the road.
‘Are you OK?’ the elderly driver yelled, rushing to my side.
‘I’m sorry,’
I screamed.
Blood was streaming from my face, clouding my eyes.
Moments later, my friends caught up.
‘Oh God, Lisa, sit down so I can put pressure on the wound,’ one said.
Losing blood, I started feeling dizzy.
My friends kept talking to me to keep me awake.
Twenty minutes later, paramedics arrived, hurried me to hospital.
There, doctors gave me pain relief.
‘Can I have a mirror?’ I asked weakly.
My face was throbbing, I knew it was damaged.
‘Your injuries are very severe and you need surgery,’ the consultant explained, suggesting
I avoid looking at my reflection.
He explained the force of the blow had destroyed the left side of my face. Glass from the windscreen had cut the tissue from top to bottom.
It had ripped my tear duct, severing my facial nerve and shattering my cheekbone.
Thankfully, my eyeball hadn’t been affected. But the flesh around it had been ripped away.
I tried to remain calm. That evening, doctors took me into surgery, fitted a metal plate into my cheek, stitching me up.
Next day, a nurse let me see myself in the mirror. I gasped.
A huge line of stitches snaked across my face.
I look like Frankenstein’s monster, I thought.
‘It’s OK, I’m alive,’ I told my mum Irena, 54.
But I was devastated. I’d never been bothered by my looks before.
Now, it seemed they’d been ripped away forever.
That evening, doctors took me into surgery...