RBF

As soon as the doctor walked through the door I knew I was in for bad news. He made that face, the aggressive teeth-showing frown that people usually wear when witnessing something revolting. The face that is generally followed by the sound of breath being sharply inhaled through the bared teeth. Then, the final nail in the coffin, the slow head shake.

"Is it bad, doc?" I asked, though I already knew the answer. My palms were sweating like crazy, my fingers twisted together like they did when I was a kid and I was trying to work out how my uncle did that thing where it looked like he had one, long continuous finger wriggling through the palms of his hands.

"Yeah," the doctor finally exhaled, his eyes lowered towards the chart resting on top of his tablet. I tried to sneak a look at it, but the numbers and acronyms, the results of my blood test, meant nothing to me.

"It's ok," I assured him. "Just tell me."

He nodded very slowly for several seconds longer than necessary and finally raised his eyes to meet mine.

"RBF. It's RBF."

My breath left me my body as hard and swiftly as if someone had punched me square in the chest. I leaned back on the examination table, my sweat-slicked hands sticking to the crinkly paper.

"Wow," I finally managed to croak out. My breath returned, heavy and quick, and my heart pounded like a funeral dirge against my rib cage.

"Yeah," the doctor said simply, his eyes full of damp sympathy.

"How," I shook my head, "how did this happen?"

The doctor sighed heavily and leaned against the table so that we both faced the mirror on the opposite wall.

"Well, no one knows for sure what causes it. Some think it's inherited, though we haven't been able to definitively saw which genes cause it. There have been some studies done recently, but the results were varied from study to study. Others think it's caused by 'nurture', by being exposed to or experiencing trauma of some kind." He eyed me warily. "You didn't mention anything like that in your initial interview, but I have to ask: is there anything that happened to you when you were young?"

I shook my head emphatically. "No, not at all. I had a great childhood. You know, normal stuff. Got picked on a bit. But that's it."

"I see," the doctor nodded again and fell silent. I dared to look towards the mirror and took in my reflection. How could I never have noticed? It seemed so obvious now. The downturned corners of my mouth. The relaxed brows. The sleepy, sad eyes.

"So that's it then," I said quietly. "There's no cure. I'm just stuck with this. Right?"

"There's no cure, that's true, but there are treatments available." He stood up straight and handed me a small business card. "Dr. Paige is the best in town. She does incredible work."

"Really?" I brightened up. "Has she treated some of your patients?"

"Yes. Quite a few. I can show you some before and after pictures, if you'd like."

I eagerly agreed and he turned on his tablet and pulled up a slideshow.

Dozens of women, many of them around my age, some older, even a few that looked to be teenagers. Before pictures of their faces, clearly afflicted by RBF. I cringed seeing some expressions that could have been my own. Some pictures made me gasp with how shocking their original appearances were before the surgery. It was a wonder they ever showed themselves in the light of day.

"Fortunately for you we caught it earlier than for some of these poor gals," the doctor explained as he swiped through. "Now, look at these after shots. I'll bet you wouldn't even notice the scars unless someone pointed them out to you."

The new and improved faces, pictured with their before-surgery shots, floated by on the screen. My eyes widened in amazement; some of them looked like entirely different people. They were all beautiful, with transcendent smiles and eyes that radiated confidence and happiness.

"So," I let out the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding, "You're saying Dr. Paige can do this? She can really make it that indiscernible?"

The doctor put the tablet down and leaned across the space between us to take my hands in his.

"Yes," he said with earnest. "Even if it can't be cured, I can promise you that we can help you. This could change your life."

A tear slipped surreptitiously down my cheek, followed by another and then another until I had to accept the offered tissue and wipe my eyes.

"I don't know what to say," I choked out. "I always knew something was wrong, but I never thought-"

"I know," the doctor nodded and squeezed my hands.

"When can I get in?"

"As soon as there's an opening. I'll have the ladies at the front desk set it up and then give you a call when it's scheduled."

Before I could even think about it I threw my arms around the doctor's neck and cried into his shoulder.

"Thank you," I said, my words muffled by his white lab coat. "Thank you, thank you."

"My pleasure," he answered and carefully pushed me away with a sympathetic smile. "You'll be a whole new person when Dr. Paige is done."

I stole another glance at the mirror behind him, at my red and puffy face. The corners of my swollen lips turned up slowly in a cheerful grin, my eyes shined with tears and hope. I could see it in that moment, the promise of a bright future, right there on my imperfect face.

A new me. The real me. Yet to be revealed. It was truly something to smile about.