"Don't worry, honey. It is going to be a wonderful day! I can't wait to see what your face looks like afterwards." As I lie on the chilly surface of the operating table, my mother's words echo in my mind. I've waited 16 years for this procedure, and now, as the reality sets in, I begin to consider all the possible outcomes. The way my mother described her procedure gave the impression that it would be an extremely invasive process, almost as if my face would be completely removed. If that's what it would take to be beautiful, I'd do it. The doctor bends over me, marking the areas to guide the surgeons on where incisions needed to be made. It felt like an eternity had passed by the time the doctor completed his preparations. He gazes at his masterpiece on my face, a devious grin spreading across his lips. "Alright, bring in the patient," he says. Panic sets in as I try to speak but I find myself unable. What did they put in my IV? The doors swing open, and I see my mother prepped with the same white gown and the same black markings on her face. The words she spoke to me this morning pound inside my head. "I can't wait to see what your face looks like afterwards." My mother turns to me to say, "I told you, honey. It's going to be a wonderful day." and as the room fades into darkness the realization hits me: my mother has come to take my face.