Kat in the UAE

Oh, update on the police episode. I don't know if anyone ever managed to scare the taxi driver, but I did get a courtesy call from the police the next day. They wanted to know how I was feeling and if everything was alright. How awesome is that? Emirati sherta brighten my day.

OK, today I drove to Dubai to have my stitches removed. I dropped in on the CosmeSurge office but once again was taken to the hospital next door. I saw my old nurse friends! They were still as nice as ever. I waited a little while and then was taken into a room with a table and a sheet on it. I had to drop my trousers and get my beige garment off (easier said that done). Unfortunately, I was on my last pair of underwear. They were clean and new, but they said, "A Fresh Week" on the front. The other pairs from the same pack say "Warming" and "Light Me Up" so this was mild. Anyway, I got my kit off and then this young Asian nurse girl came at me with a pair of tweezers and some clipper things. I could not bear to look, so I lay as still as I could. She asked me how many stitches I had. No idea. So I just rolled around until we were certain she found them all. There were thirteen altogether. One on my inner right knee, two on the inner left. One on the middle inner of each thigh, a couple behind me in the buttocks region, one on each hip. One on the top middle of my right thigh, two on the top middle of the left. I don't know if this all adds up, but that is what I recall. I also got a good look at my bruises. The bruises on the insides of my knees would stop a clock. They are as dark a purple as they could possibly be. My rear is purple and yellow. My inner thighs, a bit purple. The incisions are small and are already healing. I have to admit that taking the stitches out has made me feel a bit insecure about them. They are more sensitive now and I am much more aware of them. The top middle right thigh one has been stinging a bit.

After she helped me back into my garment, I went out into the waiting area to chill. Dr. Afif was still in surgery and would see me when he got out. He seems really busy. I asked him about the size difference. He had a gander for me. He walked around my new thighs as though he were contemplating buying a used car. He said it is way too soon to be able to tell if it's really uneven. He said that generally he doesn't have a problem with this -- most people he operates on end up even. He said give it three months for the final result. All this said with my trousers around my ankles. He was very polite and nice, though, as usual.

OK, I'm driving to Ras al Khaimah with my peeps tomorrow afternoon, so you guys might not hear from me for a while. We're planning on a three day trip (if it sucks I'm leaving early). Bye!

http://www.cosmesurge.com/english/index.htm

Want to see the services that CosmeSurge provides? Hit the link. Visit 'procedures'.

OK, my left leg is bigger than my right. When I measure them, it's only like a quarter inch difference, but the hip is more rounded than the right one. It's noticeable. There is more fat on the back side of the left thigh, too. So I have to point this out to the doc. The right side was always more painful, so I always thought that they took more fat from there, and now it's 6 days later and I notice a difference in shape for sure. He will probably say that in a month it will be safe to do a touch up (if needed). Which means that my beige 'garment' and I will spend even more time together. I think it needs a name. Any suggestions?

I get my stitches out in Dubai tomorrow. I have to find the CosmeSurge in Dubai on my own, which will be so fun!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I already look narrower. I can tell in the mirror, but I think some of it has to do with my 'garment'. It's quite an effective girdle. Now my nurse friend Fatima, the wife of a professor here, wants to get her eyelids done at the same place I went for my lipo. I thought she would chastise me, but she was really excited about my lipo procedure.

I'm still sore. I'm walking around a bit more, and this helps ease the stiffness and reduce the swelling, but sleeping still isn't very comfortable. I think I'm a bit bigger on my left side compared to my right, too. I hope this evens out over the next month. Supposedly they will retouch it if it is obviously lopsided.

So last night I went to the cinema to see Cold Mountain. It was awesome but Nicole Kidman's southern accent is OTT. When I left I grabbed a taxi. Suspiciously, he didn't turn the meter on. I shook my finger at him like a naughtly little boy and said, "Turn the METER on." He laughed. "No problem. You will give me 10 dirhams." It's illegal to bargain this way. The law in UAE is that all taxis are metered. "No, turn the meter on." He wouldn't do it, just kept driving. "Fine, I said. Hallas. Finished. Stop." He would not stop. "I have my phone and I'm calling the police now. Sherta!" "OK, OK Madam, 5 dirhams," he said. "No. Stop. STOP. STOP." Finally he pulled over in a majorly pissed off fashion. I jumped out, slammed the door, and yelled at him, GO. He rolled down the window, said "Fuck you," and drove away. I chuckled and memorized the license plate. Then I called the police and reported the motherfucker. They said OK, come down to the police station. Since the police station is right across the street from my house, I said no problem. Then I got another taxi and HE didn't turn the meter on. I said, "Turn the meter on." He asked why I was going to the police station. "Because a taxi driver tried to cheat me and I'm going to report him." Then this driver turned his meter on. I got to the police station and everyone was really curious. They kept asking if he hurt me or took my money. I said no, I didn't give him any money. The cinema is at the Rotana Hotel, where there is a bar. They asked me if I had been in the Rotana. "No, just the cinema." "So you didn't go to the bar?" they asked. The Rotana Bar is a notorious prostitution zone. "No. I DEFINITELY did not go to the Rotana bar." Anyway, they wanted to know if I wanted to file a formal complaint. If I did it would definitely go to court. I said, "If it goes to court and he is guilty he will be deported, won't he?" They shrugged and nodded. "Probably." "Well, I don't want that weight on my shoulders. Can you just have a police officer talk to him and put fear in him so that he won't do this again? His behavior is very wrong." They said OK. I heard him saying the license plate number in Arabic into the phone to dispatch. There weren't many cars on the road because it was quite late, the movie had ended at 2 in the morning, and I'm certain they would have found him if they looked at all. When I was waiting for a new taxi to drive me to the police station I had even seen the bad taxi drive by again. I gave the police my mobile number and signed a form saying that I decided not to file a formal complaint. They said I had a good heart for not wanting him to be deported. They gave me some tea. Then I walked home to Al Khayal. It's sad because I probably would have given a taxi that had taken me from the Rotana to my home 10 dirhams if the meter had been turned on. If the driver is nice and it's late at night we make it a point to tip them well. Hopefully a Emirati officer will put the fear of God in him and he'll think twice next time.

Part III

After a while I was brought (you guessed it) more tea and toast. My bruised backside was pretty achy, but I had some painkillers and didn't notice much. I was still pretty sensitive and protective of the area that had been suctioned, so when Daniella reappeared and brought me my 'garment' I was hyper-careful putting it on. It was so gorgeous, let me tell you. It's beige from mid calf to the waist, and then above the waist it's a wide band of white elastic. I had to laugh at it. There is a pink rose sewn in the middle of the front. It looks so naff you have to laugh at it. The bottoms of the legs are elasticated beige lace and there is a big hole in the middle so you can easily pee. From the low hip to the highest part of the waist, there are hook and eye closers on each side. After you hook these together you zip the industrial-strength zippers up over the top of them. The whole garment is really snug, but it's really comfortable. Holding the skin really tightly against the new contours took a lot of the pain away while walking. It's really comfortable to walk, just not to go quickly or bend the knees a lot. I got dressed in my big sweatpants and tee shirt and was feeling really good. Everyone told me that the discomfort from the bruises would only get less now. I was afraid that the pain would get worse before it got better, but I realized that it wasn't that bad at all and it wouldn't be much time before I was running all over town again. The doc came to visit me and check out my garment. There I was again, nearly naked in front of a strange Arab doctor. He asked the nurse in Arabic why I was wearing the wrong garment. They gave me one with too high of a waist. It was for people who had had stomach liposuction, as well. She shrugged. I told him there was no way in hell I was taking this one off and putting on another one. I pulled up my trousers defiantly and he chuckled. Oh well, I just have my waist cinched in as well for the next three months. Oh yeah, that was a shock, too. I had always read that I would wear the garment for 3 weeks. Then the doctor dropped the bomb. I would be attached to my beige friend for 3 months. Well, at least it has a pee hole. The nurse told me later that a lot of people shower wearing it and dry it with a hair dryer. So elegant.

I said bye to all my lovely nurse friends and went outside to get in the car. The driver was used to sensitive patients and drove very carefully. No sharp turns and dead slow over speed bumps. It was a relief to get home in the end.

I had a look in the mirror. The bruises are visible through the garment, but they are already fading.

It's not a procedure I'll be having again anytime soon, but I feel like a lot was accomplished in two days. I'm really looking forward to seeing big results.

Beginning Part II: Day of the Lipo

I lay on my back on a lounge-type sort of operating table. It looked more like a recliner than an operating table.

I felt that my left knee cap was locked. I hadn't bent my legs slightly when I laid down, and I pathetically asked a nurse to bend my leg because my knee felt weird. "You can feel your legs?" she asked dubiously. "My knee." I whined. She walked all the way around and moved my leg. "Better?" I realized then that I was in my head. I saw her move my leg and it didn't feel any different. I was officially a fruitcake. I don't know how much time passed, but I remember announcing to the room. "Make me gorgeous!" They all went awwwww and someone said, "But you are gorgeous." I heard the sound of a machine and someone asked if it was finished pumping the fluid yet. Liters of saline and some drugs were pumped into my legs in preparation for the tumescent lipo. Later I felt the pressure of the doctor running the long cannula (it looked about a foot long) into the top of my thigh. He did this through a small incision in the top middle of my right leg, where my pantyline would be. Lots of time must have passed. I don't remember the little green curtain going in front of me so I couldn't see them digging around, but all of a sudden it was in front of me. I remember trying to get up and look over it a couple of times. One time the doctor bent over the curtain and looked at my open eyes. "Hi." I said. Fruitcake again. "I thought you are sleeping!" he said. I said, "No, I'm here now."

At some point they asked me if I was cold. I thought to myself, "What's cold?" I just stared at them. Then there were some hot water bottles each side of my neck and a bundled up cloth on the crown of my head.

I turned to the anaethesiologist. "Hi." "Hi," she echoed. "I want to sleep," I whined. "OK." I felt some the pressure of something doing into my hand. Whomp. Out like a light.

I woke up as the doctor was tying off the last suture. "We are finished now," he announced. A selection of nurses helped me move carefully from the operating lounge thing to another wheelie bed.

They took me to the recovery room and then I moved to a new bed. My feet never touched the floor. I couldn't stand because I was still quite numb and I would have fallen over. I promptly fell asleep, distinctly relieved that the operation was over. It had lasted over three hours.

My snores woke me up one hour later. I looked around guiltily, but the nurse at the desk wasn't paying any attention to my indelicate snoring. She came over when she saw me trying to sit up. She asked how I was and if I wanted to try some tea and biscuits. Tea and biscuits have NEVER tasted so good. I was so hungry there wasn't any room left to be nauseous.

It was slow in the recovery room, so another nurse came to watch me eat. They both stood a safe distance away, certain I was going to vomit all over them. Or maybe they were afraid I would try to chew an arm off if it got too close. I don't know.

I asked if there was anyone else around. They told me there had been a man there for a hair transplant, but he'd gone home already.

Then I remembered that earlier I heard I could see my fat if I wanted to. "Where is my fat?" I asked nurse #1. "It's over here, I will get it for you!" she said excitedly. She when to a large plastic bin and brought back three large, clear plastic cylinders. One of them was half full of bright red tumescent fluid. The top layer was fat, right up to the top. The second cylinder was filled to the brim with fat. The third was about 20 percent full. "You had 4.1 liters taken from you." I was pleased. One Coke bottle's worth of fat from each leg sounded like a good start.

I got onto the wheelie bed again for the trip to my room. It was a double but I was all to myself. Different nurses came to check on me and they were all so nice. I've never been so well cared for by strangers. There were two HUGE disposable pads on my bed. I promptly leaked bright red fluid all over them. After I rested a little while a lovely new Romanian nurse came to check on me. She ordered some toast and tea for me. Then I ate the little box of cereal I had smuggled in in my overnight bag. Then my friend came to visit me and brought three sandwiches, fries, bread, 4 bottled drinks, and a huge bouquet of flowers. She took pictures of my bruises and stitches and stuff. It was fun to show off the wounds. The bruises felt pretty achy. The nurse gave me some drugs and it didn't bother me much.

There was no way I could eat all the food that she brought to me, so we put almost all of it away in the little fridge in the room.

The nurse told me she wasn't going to tell me where the bathroom is because I must call her to help me go. I laughed. She said, "There will be some blood, but it's not really blood it's the fluid." She was right. When I went to pee for the first time, she supported me walking the 7 steps to the bathroom. Each step ricocheted a horrible ache up the back of my thighs. It was bearable, but I wouldn't sit on the toilet for fear of the pain. I hovered for ages before I could relax and just go. When I washed my hands and turned to leave, I saw a bright river of blood running down the toilet. Ugh. "It's so bloody!" I said. "I told you. Don't act surprised!" she said.

I got back into bed on top of some fresh pads. I soon leaked all over those, too. All the fluid that hadn't been sucked out with the fat was still in my legs. For the next few hours it would ooze over my gown and the bed. I lost count of how many times we changed my gown. I think it was 5, but maybe 6. I had 5 incisions in each leg. The lowest ones were leaking the most. Later that night, around ten, the nurse came back and we chatted for ages while she sat next to me, squeezing my leg at each incision site until no more bright red fluid ran out. It took over 60 minutes. "The first one was just like a faucet," she said. There was no pain because the fluid contains anaesthetic. We talked about her Rottweiler, her boyfriend, England, the European Union, Dubai prostitutes. I was extremely relieved to be spending the night in the hospital. I would not have wanted to deal with rivers of bloody fluid or stained sheets at home. Help to the bathroom from someone you won't see in the future is a comfort, as well.

The pain really was not bad. Being still was painless. Shifting positions was a bit painful, but not horribly. It is a strong ache. The fat is gone and now the skin is being pulled by gravity. It's not stuck to the underlying fat and it hurts to move quickly. However, it is bearable. I caught site of my naked rear in the mirror on a trip back from the bathroom. Huge purple bruises spanned the expanse of my derriere. A little trickle of red fluid ran down the back of my leg.

The incisions, however, are not painful. Mine were cleaned with iodine and I felt no pain. The cuts are tiny and each one has one or two stitches. Walking is not comfortable soon after the surgery. I waited to go to the bathroom for as long as I could.

I felt some aching in my butt as I lay in bed that night so I asked the nurse for an injection. She gave it to me in the same place it ached. . . Minutes later all the ache melted away. I had a sleeping pill and fell asleep at midnight.

At five I was wide awake. I woke wondering if it had really happened. Had I really gone through with it? I thought for a long time about what the results might look like, what they would let me do. I had not worn shorts in public for years. I wouldn't sit down and spread out two feet on a bench anymore. I was shocked at myself for taking this drastic measure. At the same time I was deeply relieved. The size of my thighs had stopped me from doing different things for many years. I was looking forward to being much more confident because of my altered figure.

The nurse peaked her head around the corner. "Hi." I said. Still a fruitcake. "It's five," she said, "take more sleep." I was thoroughly awake, so she brought me more tea and toast. It made me very happy to be given breakfast in bed. That hospital room felt like the safest, kindest place in the world. I will always remember that about it.

End Part II

The following is every detail of my liposuction procedure:

I got up at 8:20 Tuesday morning, showered vigorously like the pre-op instructions said, and put on some corduroys and a tight cotton shirt. I looked in the mirror and was instantly reminded of why I want this lipo. My distinctly pear-shaped figure looked right back at me. It's impossible to find nice trousers that I can stuff my thighs into. I own 3 pairs that truly fit, and two of them were altered to fit me.

I did not want to cringe in front of the mirror every time I look at myself for the rest of my life. I was scared, but I was determined to go through with it.

The driver came for me at 9:45 morning. I hadn't eaten or drunk anything since 10 the night before, and I was starting to feel pretty thirsty. I slept horribly the night before. I fell asleep around 4:30, but I woke up 3 times freaking out. I felt like someone waiting to be executed. I was sooooo nervous.

About 2 hours later we rolled up to CosmeSurge Dubai. The driver said, "We're here, Madam."

I had a horrible sinking feeling. I thought my surgery would be in a proper hospital. The CosmeSurge building was too small to be resassuring. I wanted nurses, ventilators and bedpans, damn it. I dragged myself inside with my little overnight bag and was met at the front desk by a Barbie wanna be. She had masses of blonde highlights, light skin, and a nice figure. Her loud, tight shirt was too young for her and she had a huge, bright pink mouth. She apologized for the stinky incense that the beautician insisted on burning every day.

As I signed release forms she told me that she had the same areas operated on that I was about to have; the inner thighs, inner knees, and outer thighs. I was relieved. She lived.

I mentioned to her that the only cosmetic surgery I had had before was laser eye surgery. She told me she did it, too, and asked me what my prescription was. I told her it wasn't that bad, just -3.75. She said, "Me too!" It struck me that this must mean I was a Barbie wanna be.

She grabbed a digital camera and took several pictures. I stood in front of a blank white wall and she photographed me from the front and the rear. Some legs closed, some legs slightly apart. I made a point to wear underwear that wasn't three sizes too small. How come in every before and after shot you see the women are always wearing thongs and child-sized drawers?

She said she had taken about 1500 pictures since she started working at CosmeSurge.

After I got my kit back on she directed me out a side door. Thank Jesus Mary and Joseph we walked 20 feet over to a back door of Emirates Hospital. I hadn't noticed it when we pulled up in the car! In the hospital I met with a CosmeSurge rep and went over what surgery I was getting once again.

Daniella was the sweet Romanian nurse who arrived to take my blood and pressure. My blood pressure was 110/80, normal. As usual, though, no one could find a vein in my arms. I was so nervous and tense about my surgery that I was panicking inside. No one had said anything to ease my stress and reassure me. Now I was certain that I would get stuck over and over again with a needle. Daniella called the anaesthesiologist so that she could go ahead and stick my hand for the imminent IV. They decided they would take blood through the same line to avoid sticking me over and over. I couldn't look. Taking blood from me is usually disastrous. Somehow a valve in the plastic apparatus they stuck in my hand didn't close, and sure enough my blood shot out all over the floor, on my boot, and on my hand. The anaethesiologist jumped back a mile to avoid getting shot with it. I went dead white, buried my face in my good hand, and tried to laugh it off. Still panicking inside, I felt like I might be going into shock.

After my paint job was wiped up, Daniella helped me into a pair of disposable knickers and a tres chic hospital gown. She told me that I was a very brave young woman. I loved her for that.

Then my surgeon, Dr. Afif, came inside to do the prep work. His English wasn't so hot, but he was calm and collected and listened hard when I spoke to him.

I stood in front of him, naked but for disposable knickers (translucent, mind you) and he started to draw all over my derriere. It tickled as the permanent marker ran across my butt and inner thigh, so I couldn't help but giggle. That set them off. Everyone was laughing and I felt a bit better. A few minutes passed, and then it started to feel like an eternity. I hadn't had anything to eat or drink for 13 hours, I was incredibly uneasy, and now I had been standing with some man drawing on my ass for 10 minutes. I was certain I was going to pass out, so I said, "Sorry Doctor, I must sit." And slumped next to him on the sofa. He was mid X on my left thigh, and he looked confused for a second. Then it was all hands on deck. He jumped up and Daniella rushed over. She told my pressure again. It had dropped but was still at a safe level. They made me lie all the way down with my feet up. Daniella waved me with a file folder and the doctor went to find a new nurse to come inside and stroke my hair. When I got all my color back in my face he finished his artwork. As he was drawing I looked over at the sofa. The purple leather was covered in black marker, fresh from the sweaty legs of a lightheaded patient. Everyone had to laugh at that.

Then I got my premed pills and a sip of water (Hallelujah). I started to feel a bit more relaxed.

Then I got to ride on a wheelie bed to the OR. As I left the nurse said, "Don't worry Katherine, it's not real surgery, just plastic surgery!" Somehow I wasn't quite convinced.

In the OR there was an army of staff. Two Indian nurses, one Dutch, and several others that ran around too fast for me to get a good look at. All of them were there for me and my overfed thighs.

I went in and out during this time, but I remember a few things distinctly. I had to curl up in fetal position for them to give me my spinal. After this I could not move my legs at all. I kept thinking about Michelle Pfeiffer when she is paralyzed in the bathtub in What Lies Beneath.

End Part I

OK, my appointment got moved back a day. Now tomorrow, Tuesday, I'm getting my thighs sucked out. I made a video of the 'before' look. I'm going to tape myself again after weeks 1, 2, and 3. I hope I don't look like shit. I can't wait for Katie and Clare to get here. They are visiting me out here in 2 weeks. They're flying all the way from London. I love those girls! Even if they are skinnier than me. Bitches. Oops, sorry. Just slipped out.

I'm on a new cocktail. God, it's so easy to get prescription drugs in the Middle East. I'm taking Sibutramine and Xenical now. Sibutramine knocks out the appetite and Xenical doesn't let your body absorb a lot of the fat from the food you eat. I haven't had the Xenical yet. I'm afraid it's going to make me poo myself. I'm waiting til the day I have a grilled cheese at home. Then I'll test it.

I'm finally gonna do it. My appointment is tomorrow, Monday. I'm gonna get my thighs sucked out. I am so nervous and so excited at the same time. I want to do this for so many reasons. So that I can buy nice clothes, feel more fit, not worry about how I look when I walk down the street. I'll never forget walking down the street in a pair of shorts one summer day in Illinois. A car full of boys rode by, making oinking pig noises. When I tried to work out on a treadmill, a boy in the gym told me I was so fat I was making the belt stop every time I stepped on it. He was about 5 feet tall, by the way. Most of all I don't want to be self conscious in pictures. I don't want to always be the fat girl. It's a nightmare. And even if people don't tell you how blubbery you are, they completely ignore you as they tell your friend, "My God, you're so slim! Why would you ever diet?" This is right after you've announced that you've teamed up to give Weight Watchers a go. My wedding is coming up, my 5 year high school reunion is in June, and life is too short. I want to look good and fit in my clothes.

I hate my life. I have been waiting for my check for over two weeks. Finally it's here and my bank is holding it for nine days. I swear they do things on whim. The longer this goes on, the farther away my liposuction gets moved back. I hate them. Now I have 200 dollars to last me until March 11.

Thanks Robins Federal Credit Union. You fucking suck.

I am getting my thighs sucked out in Dubai. I'm getting the high outer thigh (my biggest problem area) suctioned, as well as the inner knees and inner thighs. Doc says we can't take as much out of my inner thighs as I would like because "we'll get waves". At least he's honest. The surgery will last about 4 hours. I'll have local anesthetic and something to constrict my blood vessels. "That way," he says, "we'll get the mayonnaise, not the ketchup." He is such a colorful man. All this for the bargain price of 2,500 dollars. I am really interested to see if this surgery will drop my pants size but a couple of numbers. I usually can't buy normal pants because my huge thighs can't get wedge in more than halfway. It's tremendously embarassing. And for years people have been telling me what a huge ass I have. Here's a public service announcement, "NO ONE WHO HAS A FIGURE FLAW NEEDS YOU TO POINT IT OUT TO THEM." Believe me, we already know and we already think about it 95% of awake time and 70% of sleep time. Your comments do not help us remedy the problem. So, unless you make a large cash donation for the purposes of corrective surgery, you would do very well to keep your mouth shut.