(August 17, Colombo, Sri Lanka Guardian) The Greek philosopher Aristotle once said, "Personal beauty is a greater recommendation than a letter of reference". Guess how many of us out there have taken this adage to heart.
I am 32, 5"6’ and normally weigh 140 lbs. In the strictest fashion sense, that means I’m fat, hopeless, and unable to find a sexy top that will fit me without cutting off my circulation. When I shop in designer boutiques, I am automatically shooed away to the plus-size and stretch-fit department. In the shopping mecca of Hong Kong, I am considered "full" and "healthy" (politesse for "pudgy").
Until recent years when Belo, botox and lipo became household names, I had not really paid much attention to how I look or how much I weighed. But seeing how celebrities could lose scores of pounds in just a week or turn into swans after a beauty session, I began to obsess over how a few medically supervised adjustments might help.
I was 28 when I had my first procedure, courtesy of French cosmetic surgeon Dr. Pierre Clero, famous for being patronised by the creme de la creme. I had three major surgical procedures done by Dr. Clero from 2003 until 2005, until I switched to two of the Philippines’ top names in cosmetic enhancement: Asian Plastic Surgery Center’s Dr. Florencio Q. Lucero for my abdominal liposculpture and nose tip rhinoplasty in January this year and, about a month later, a smart lipo procedure in both arms and back done personally by Dr. Vicki Belo of the Belo Medical Group.
I love to eat, a habit that naturally leads to nasty weight gain. Instant solution: have the fat suctioned out. My first try was extremely painful, like having to endure multiple gunshot wounds, bathing in pig’s blood as in that Stephen King movie, Carrie, and surviving a hit and run accident - all at the same time. But after the second time, you start getting used to the pain (with a little help from the mantra, "no pain, no gain"). By the third, fourth and fifth time, you actually kind of miss the pain, because then you start thinking that in beauty, as in politics or even love, everything is relative.
But what’s the entire experience like? Try catching the latest episode of the TV series, Nip/Tuck and you’ll see what I mean. It is an established routine: you come into the clinic and the surgeon turns your body into a canvas, making line drawings to indicate your problem areas. You put on a sterilized suit and are escorted into the main operating room where the anesthesiologist awaits. You are then made to lie face down on a surgical table that looks remotely like those wooden structures in medieval torture chambers (okay, I’m exaggerating). A needle is slowly inserted into your vein and the IV drip commences immediately. Soft music is played. Breathe in, breathe out. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six ... and then twilight beckons.
Five, four, three, two, one ... You wake up five hours later to utter silence. You are unable to move because you feel like you’re in suspended animation. Your limbs are heavy and your head is spinning. You are wrapped in an ultra-tight compression garment, made even tighter by dozens of diaper-like bandages surrounding your multiple incisions. A protective, thermal blanket keeps you from shivering. The anesthesia effect is indescribable, because it makes you feel that you are in some inbetween place, like purgatory. The slightest movement and you sense some sort of liquid leaking profusely from various parts of your body, while your limbs feel like they’re being shredded. As the pain climaxes, your eyes start to get heavy. And once again, twilight.
The next thing I know, I’m being ushered into my car and rushed back home. I am stupefied. Hungry. Thirsty. In an extremely bad, psychotic mood. I keep drifting back and forth between consciousness and twilight. I feel weak and in excruciating pain. Now I know how seriously afflicted patients feel. The suffering. The searing pain. Over and over again. Gunshot victims. Cancer patients. Paralysis by stroke. Third degree burns.
Suddenly, perspective hits. Others curse the pain inflicted on them by force of circumstance, major illness or accident. I, on the other hand, have willingly allowed my body to be turned into some sort of overused punching bag - and all for love of beauty. Hell no, not even close to beauty. Rather, for love of a 12-year-old’s waistline.
- ANN
- Sri Lanka Guardian
I am 32, 5"6’ and normally weigh 140 lbs. In the strictest fashion sense, that means I’m fat, hopeless, and unable to find a sexy top that will fit me without cutting off my circulation. When I shop in designer boutiques, I am automatically shooed away to the plus-size and stretch-fit department. In the shopping mecca of Hong Kong, I am considered "full" and "healthy" (politesse for "pudgy").
Until recent years when Belo, botox and lipo became household names, I had not really paid much attention to how I look or how much I weighed. But seeing how celebrities could lose scores of pounds in just a week or turn into swans after a beauty session, I began to obsess over how a few medically supervised adjustments might help.
I was 28 when I had my first procedure, courtesy of French cosmetic surgeon Dr. Pierre Clero, famous for being patronised by the creme de la creme. I had three major surgical procedures done by Dr. Clero from 2003 until 2005, until I switched to two of the Philippines’ top names in cosmetic enhancement: Asian Plastic Surgery Center’s Dr. Florencio Q. Lucero for my abdominal liposculpture and nose tip rhinoplasty in January this year and, about a month later, a smart lipo procedure in both arms and back done personally by Dr. Vicki Belo of the Belo Medical Group.
I love to eat, a habit that naturally leads to nasty weight gain. Instant solution: have the fat suctioned out. My first try was extremely painful, like having to endure multiple gunshot wounds, bathing in pig’s blood as in that Stephen King movie, Carrie, and surviving a hit and run accident - all at the same time. But after the second time, you start getting used to the pain (with a little help from the mantra, "no pain, no gain"). By the third, fourth and fifth time, you actually kind of miss the pain, because then you start thinking that in beauty, as in politics or even love, everything is relative.
But what’s the entire experience like? Try catching the latest episode of the TV series, Nip/Tuck and you’ll see what I mean. It is an established routine: you come into the clinic and the surgeon turns your body into a canvas, making line drawings to indicate your problem areas. You put on a sterilized suit and are escorted into the main operating room where the anesthesiologist awaits. You are then made to lie face down on a surgical table that looks remotely like those wooden structures in medieval torture chambers (okay, I’m exaggerating). A needle is slowly inserted into your vein and the IV drip commences immediately. Soft music is played. Breathe in, breathe out. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six ... and then twilight beckons.
Five, four, three, two, one ... You wake up five hours later to utter silence. You are unable to move because you feel like you’re in suspended animation. Your limbs are heavy and your head is spinning. You are wrapped in an ultra-tight compression garment, made even tighter by dozens of diaper-like bandages surrounding your multiple incisions. A protective, thermal blanket keeps you from shivering. The anesthesia effect is indescribable, because it makes you feel that you are in some inbetween place, like purgatory. The slightest movement and you sense some sort of liquid leaking profusely from various parts of your body, while your limbs feel like they’re being shredded. As the pain climaxes, your eyes start to get heavy. And once again, twilight.
The next thing I know, I’m being ushered into my car and rushed back home. I am stupefied. Hungry. Thirsty. In an extremely bad, psychotic mood. I keep drifting back and forth between consciousness and twilight. I feel weak and in excruciating pain. Now I know how seriously afflicted patients feel. The suffering. The searing pain. Over and over again. Gunshot victims. Cancer patients. Paralysis by stroke. Third degree burns.
Suddenly, perspective hits. Others curse the pain inflicted on them by force of circumstance, major illness or accident. I, on the other hand, have willingly allowed my body to be turned into some sort of overused punching bag - and all for love of beauty. Hell no, not even close to beauty. Rather, for love of a 12-year-old’s waistline.
- ANN
- Sri Lanka Guardian
 The Greek philosopher Aristotle once said, "Personal beauty is a greater recommendation tha...){kind=link}
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