Risked life for bum!
Achieving the perfect posterior almost killed me
Scrolling through Instagram, my eyes were drawn to one star’s profile.
To me, reality queen Kim Kardashian had the perfect figure.
I stared enviously at endless pics of her curvy bum and tiny waist.
‘What I wouldn’t give for that body,’ I sighed.
It was July 2014, and I was no stranger to cosmetic surgery.
I was only 23, but already had a boob job – going to a 32C – plus Botox, lip fillers and laser treatment.
I was slim, and I mostly liked my figure – apart from one thing. My bum.
It looked flat, shapeless and unattractive.
Desperate to change it, I’d often find myself searching for bum implants online.
But the surgery seemed so expensive.
Determined not to give up, I finally found a clinic in Belgium that could do the op for half the price.
I will get that Kim K figure, I thought, my mind made up.
So I forked out £4,500 in advance for the op, then started saving for travel costs.
The minute it was booked, I started counting down the days.
During a pre-op consultation, I begged the surgeon for his fullest implants.
‘The bigger the better,’ I grinned.
But he refused, saying my body was too small for anything larger than 350 cubic centimetres of silicon – just 5cc more than my breast implants.
I was disappointed, but reluctantly accepted his decision.
Better than no implants, I thought.
I’d become obsessed with having the perfect, voluptuous bum.
Finally, in July 2015, it was time for my op!
I lay on the hospital trolley, clutching the nurse’s hand as I went into theatre.
‘See you on the other side,’ I giggled. I wasn’t nervous. Just excited to wake up with my perfect figure.
Four hours later, I regained consciousness, groggy and sore. But I didn’t care. Admiring my new figure in a mirror, I couldn’t stop grinning. My bum was sore and swathed in bandages, but it was obviously bigger, rounder. ‘I feel like I’ve won the lottery!’ I beamed. Within 24 hours, I was ready to go back home. Doctors advised me not to touch my bandages or re-dress the wounds. Odd, I thought. But I didn’t question their medical advice. Leaving the clinic, I felt fantastic. I had to get the Eurostar back to London, then another train to Leeds. Only, the journey was hell, and took hours. I couldn’t get comfy. I was in too much pain to sit down, but standing for hours left me weak, exhausted. And, 10 days later, I was still in agony, taking painkillers to ease the throbbing ache. Shouldn’t I be healing by now? I thought, worried. I took an afternoon nap – but, when I woke from it, I realised that something was really wrong. Beneath me, the bed was soaked through. I hadn’t wet myself, but I couldn’t understand why everything was so damp. I felt around underneath my back and bum. Looking at my hand, I recoiled in horror. It was covered in blood and thick yellow pus... and it was still oozing from my bum. I gagged as the awful, putrid stench
I was in too much pain to sit down, standing left me weak
hit my nostrils.
Desperately trying to pull myself out from under the covers, pain shot through me. I couldn’t move! My phone was nearby, so, hands shaking, I dialled the emergency services. Am I going to die? I thought, panicked. What had gone wrong? An ambulance rushed me to Leeds General Infirmary, where a surgeon confirmed my worst nightmare.
He said that my bum implants had ruptured. Exploded.
‘They’ll have to come out,’ he told me.
‘But I can’t lose them!’ I wept.
I’d rather risk infection and fever, I thought.
I know it sounds mad, but that’s how obsessed I was with my perfect posterior.
The surgeon soon snapped me out of it.
‘If the implants stay in your body, even for another hour, you could die,’ he said. My heart pounded. I knew I didn’t have a choice, and was rushed into theatre.
Waking up to my flat shape, I was devastated. My beautiful bum had gone. The doctors told me I should have been cleaning the wounds, but I must have misheard the aftercare instructions.
Trying not to wallow, I turned my attention to healing.
Once I’m better, I can get the implants put back in, I thought.
So as my wounds healed, I booked a second op at the same Belgian clinic.
They were happy to do the same procedure again, after I’d taken six weeks to recover.
Friends and family begged me not to, but I refused to listen.
I knew more surgery carried a risk, but I’d decided a curvy backside was the only thing that’d make me happy.
So, in September 2015, I took the Eurostar back to Belgium.
I was nervous about what lay ahead, but positive. It’ll go perfectly, I told myself. It had to. This time, post-surgery, I was kept at the clinic until I was fully recovered, had my dressings changed regularly.
And, when the bandages came off, I was delighted!
My bum was voluptuous, smooth – perfect.
Now, I’m obsessed with my new rear.
It’s the derriere of my dreams and I love showing it off in clingy dresses.
It’s given me a real confidence boost.
So far, I’ve splurged £20K on cosmetic surgery and don’t plan to stop.
I hope to have hip implants in Colombia next. I can’t wait. Then I’m going to start on my face.
I still admire Kim Kardashian, and love it that my body is starting to look more like hers. I will have the perfect figure. Even if it kills me.
Rushed to hospital, I faced up to my worst nightmare Would this be my dream