This is a story that is, superficially, both a little tragic and a little funny. The finished result by the amateur restorer is so awful that it's almost amusing, but the damage to an artist's work naturally offends our sensibilities and we feel for the man (no longer with us) whose work has been so expertly destroyed.
However, there is another story sitting below the surface and it concerns the way in which religious people view sacred images. In many cultures, the artistic integrity or even quality of a religious image is of secondary importance at best when compared to its value as a sacred object. In India, many statues have become so worn down and over-painted that they no longer bear any resemblance to the god they represent, yet they still command great respect from the faithful. In Thailand, one can find headless, limbless, fallen-over statues of the Buddha which are still garlanded and honoured. In countries of the Orthodox Christian world, the original paint of icons is often invisible thanks to metal coverings or the sooty grime of centuries. I think a similar phenomenon is going on with the kind of religious kitsch you can see all over the world and I wonder if this also lies behind the story of the 'restored' Ecce Homo.
I don't think that the faithful of these traditions are indifferent to artistic quality, but it seems clear that 'good taste' is not the main criterion for religious value when it comes to images. What matters most is that this is the place where many have come to pray and this object is the focus of that prayer. I can easily imagine that, for our octogenarian restorer, the image is one that has focussed her devotion for decades, perhaps all her life, and it is so important to her that she did not want it to fade away to nothing. At the same time, it is so familiar to her that she does not depend on its superficial appearance for its value.
All the same, I can't imagine that she would mind too much if someone more expert were to come along and improve on her own 'improvements'!