My self esteem was at an all-time low, but slapdash surgery left me leaking! By Georgina Goldsmith, 46
Tugging my clothes as I stared at the mirror, I sighed miserably.
After having four kids, all by C-section, my stomach hadn’t been the same in years.
Plus, as a full-time nurse, I was always eating on the go and rarely had time to exercise.
‘Are you ready, love?’ my husband said, coming up the stairs.
We were meant to be heading to dinner, but recently I’d been avoiding going out.
At 13st 12lb, and a size 16 to 18, my self-esteem was at an all-time low. I dressed in oversized jumpers and jeans, even in summer, in an attempt to make my body invisible.
Then, one day at work, my colleague returned from a few weeks’ annual leave.
‘You look amazing!’ I said, admiring her trim figure under her nurse scrubs.
‘I’ll let you in on a secret…’ she smiled.
She explained she’d just come back from Turkey, where she’d had a tummy tuck.
‘Oh, I don’t think I could ever go for surgery abroad,’ I said.
I’d heard far too many horror stories…
But I had to admit her transformation was amazing, and when she told me how cheap it had been, I found myself thinking about it more.
I’d always wondered if surgery might be the answer for me, and I’d even looked into a tummy tuck in the UK after my daughter was born 11 years ago.
But the cost had been a staggering £15k — I simply couldn’t afford it.
Maybe I should look into Turkey, I thought.
For the next five years, I did extensive research on the procedure and the surgeon my colleague had used.
I spent hours on patient forums and the surgeon’s website, reading reviews and marvelling at the before and after photos.
‘I think I want to get a tummy tuck in Turkey,’ I said to my hubby eventually.
He was incredibly supportive, just wanting me to be happy.
A few weeks later, I paid the £1,000 deposit and booked the flights.
Since my husband was staying at home to look after the kids, my friend, Jo, came with me.
I was booked in for a tummy tuck with muscle repair, liposuction and a breast lift.
‘Aren’t you scared about going for major surgery abroad?’ a friend asked.
I was nervous, but after so many years of research,
I felt prepared and excited.
Landing in Turkey, Jo and I were taken to a plush hotel near the hospital.
A few days later, the big day arrived.
The minute I met the surgeon, any nerves I had vanished.
He was so calm and friendly.
‘We’ll remove this bit of stomach here and cut along here,’ he said, his pen tracing lines over my body.
‘Have you thought about chin liposuction?’ he asked a few moments later, while examining my neck.
‘I’ll let you > in on a > secret’
I’d always been self-conscious about my double chin, so I quickly agreed to extra surgery, adding another £750 to my bill.
The total cost was £10,500.
I’d saved up for the deposit, but I’d taken out a loan to cover the rest.
It was daunting to hand over such a huge amount.
But after my money was collected, the atmosphere in the room changed.
They rushed me through signing the consent forms without allowing me time to read them and then a nurse appeared to give me medication for the surgery.
I watched wide-eyed in shock as she approached me without wearing gloves.
Then I was wheeled into the hospital corridor as my eyelids drifted shut…
The next thing I knew, I woke up in the hospital room, throbbing in agony.
I was wrapped in a compression garment, and there were three drains attached to me so excess fluid could be removed.
Only, my whole body was soaked with blood and fluid.
And, gently moving my head,
I felt a tight chin strap digging into my neck.
I’d been in theatre for nine hours.
‘How are you feeling?’ Jo asked.
‘I don’t think I should be this wet,’ I said, gritting my teeth as another wave of pain hit me.
Hours later, nurses encouraged me to stand up.
But as I did, fluid from my body puddled around my socks.
‘I need new sheets,’ I cried, terrified.
Rather than fresh sheets, the hospital staff placed a new absorbent pad over my bed.
‘I’m going to get an infection or a pressure sore,’ I whispered to Jo, panic sweeping through me.
After spending two horrific days in the hospital, where staff smoked on the ward and only
a few of them spoke English, I was discharged.
‘Get me out of here,’ I said to Jo.
But when we arrived back at the hotel, we realised that, despite my dressings needing to be changed twice a day, the hospital hadn’t given me any.
Nurses came once a day to check on me
and provide pain relief — the paracetamol dose only half of what someone in the UK would take for a headache.
I was shocked to see the nursing staff didn’t wear scrubs or aprons over their own clothes.
‘Don’t touch me without gloves on!’ I snapped at one man.
As the days went on, my body began to swell, and the compression garment and chin strap dug in even more.
But five days after surgery, I was told I was fit to fly.
Sitting on the plane, I felt my body balloon — even the parts of me that hadn’t had surgery, such as my arms and legs.
‘Are you OK?’ Jo asked as I winced, the pain was like being stung repeatedly.
When I got home, the swelling remained.
Worried, I contacted the surgeon’s PA but I was told this was normal and I was advised to eat a low-carb diet.
‘Don’t touch me without gloves on!’
Then I remembered reading how some women on the patient forums had found that lymphatic drainage massages helped.
I booked myself in for one, but nothing seemed to reduce the swelling.
I found myself spending £125 on three massages a week, without seeing very much improvement.
Then, weeks later, I noticed a small, white thread emerging from the scar across my stomach.
It was one of my dissolvable stitches.
‘Just pull them out,’ the surgeon’s secretary told me.
But each stitch that came
to the surface made my once-neat scar more angry.
Over the next few months, 22 stitches came to the surface and I was put on antibiotics for a wound infection.
To make matters worse, something had gone wrong with my chin lipo.
Small pockets of fat had been missed and the too-tight chin strap had pressed them on to my neck, making it look wrinkled.
‘That’s normal,’ the surgeon’s PA insisted.
But I knew it wasn’t — I could barely stand to look at myself.
Going back to work, people commented on my weight loss.
I tried to be happy with my slimmer figure, even buying new clothes.
But deep down, I still hated my body.
It was littered with scars and the skin around my stomach was so tight, I often struggled to reach the kitchen cupboard. Picking up my toddler son was almost impossible, too.
I can’t be the only one experiencing this, I thought.
Logging on to my laptop, I shared my experiences on the same online forums I’d used for research months before.
Soon, my post was flooded with comments from women who’d had similar experiences but had been too scared to speak out.
Now, I’m still in recovery.
I have to continue wearing my compression garment daily, and
I have lymphatic massages every fortnight.
Thankfully, the surgeon has recently refunded me for my botched chin surgery.
For anyone who’s thinking about getting surgery abroad, please think twice.
It may be cheaper but it could cost you dearly in terms of your health and wellbeing.
