My Experience in Plastic Surgery

A friend of mine recently posted an article on Facebook that was written by an American plastic surgeon.  It is a brief discussion about “What is beauty?” and the perception of beauty.  Because so many of his patients have the unrealistic vision to look like a beautiful model or actress, he points out that a big part of his job is counseling patients.  I am almost convinced that plastic surgeons should get a degree in psychology if they are going into aesthetics.

When I lived in Istanbul I worked for a plastic surgeon for about three years, and I saw this first hand.  Perhaps even magnified because this doctor happened to be one of the plastic surgeons to the famous and elite of Turkey.  It was interesting in many ways.  In addition to learning about this area of medicine, I also had an experience in Turkish pop culture.  At the time I had only lived there for about two years or so, and still did not know much about Turkish celebrities.  This means that I usually had no idea who the patients were.  It gave me a very unique, objective experience.

The majority of the patients were very nice people, but like everywhere, there were always a few off the grid.  For example, I was always in shock at patients who had the arrogance to show up without appointments and just walk to the back of the clinic near my desk to wait close to the doctor’s office.  Of course it was their divine right to do so.

If their behavior did not indicate it, I could always tell by the buzz among the staff if someone “important” was in.  It was interesting to observe this because they looked normal to me.  It put fame into perspective – they are just normal people.  Or at least they started out that way, and were still human even though the media worships them as super human.

Famous people who were in need of recognition were often disappointed when they realized I did not know who they were and my Turkish was not that great.  In most cases, they were off to find someone who could recognize them.  If someone of superstar status came into an office in the US – say maybe a Madonna or Tom Cruise, and someone on staff didn’t recognize them, I wonder if they would be horrified with the question, “And your name is?”

As my Turkish improved, my knowledge of pop culture did not progress on the same scale.  I still did not know most of the famous people.  It’s not that I lived in a box. I just chose not to read the paparazzi pages of the newspapers.  If I successfully recognized someone I was internally a little proud of my new found fluency in the culture.

The most impressionable patient was one that visited late after appointment hours – usually, the big names did.  Unlike the “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy that surrounds plastic surgery in the US, I found many Turks to be quite proud of it and often name their doctors for the paparazzi.  However, the bigger stars were often more discrete even if they talked about it openly.

This patient was a very well known model in Turkey.  She is beautiful, however after seeing her before and after shots in several articles we wrote in the clinic, I know how much work contributed to that beauty.  She was beautiful before, but like many women, they feel compelled to change what they were born with. 

I was working late that night waiting for my boss to finish with his appointments so we could finalize something we were working on.  Enter super model.

After the formalities and greetings he asked her to sit down.  She proceeds to pull out a Turkish version of a well-known fashion magazine with her feature photo shoot.  “Look”, she says, almost in tears. 

I observing, watch my boss study each page of the feature.  I am able to see them and cannot find anything wrong with them.  They are in fact gorgeous.  The model looks great, the planned scenes and lighting are amazing.  It is a fantastic feature.  I am now thinking my boss is probably equally confused.  After all, he has touched every key feature on her face and body already, so what could possibly be wrong?  She has already been molded into perfection.

After sitting in silence as he turned the pages, she finally broke the news.  It was her nose.  She was not happy with the tip.  It needed to go up another 5 millimeters or so.  I wish this were a joke, but it was incredibly real.

They proceeded to discuss it.  Even her accompanying boyfriend had an opinion about it, which just made it seem even more wrong.  It actually angered me at some level that he did not find this girl perfect.  Not only did he agree with the girl, he was trying to explain how he thought the surgery should go.  Note: boyfriend was not a doctor.  I can’t say I was not jumping up and down for joy inside when my boss told him to stop talking.  The patient and my boss proceeded to talk for another 10 minutes or so about the details of the surgery.  In a few days time, she would have the perfect nose. 

Every ounce of my being was in complete shock at what just took place.  I have seen my boss counsel patients before, but never a discussion like this with someone who is considered by so many to be a benchmark of beauty. 

I almost needed to throw cold water on my face to recover from the scene to start working again.  I had a very hard time sleeping that night and felt incredibly saddened by the situation.  I am not sure if I was sorry for her, or sorry for humans – mostly women – in general and how they choose their idols based on physical appearance.

People look at a magazine cover and see a beautiful woman and think she has it all and is so happy.  Everyone wants to be like her so badly.  Or at least if they cannot have the fame and fortune, they try to physically achieve that body with rigorous workouts, diets, even risking their life in surgery to do it (yes folks, all surgeries ultimately have this risk).

I saw her during her follow up appointment after the surgery.  Frankly, I did not see a difference in her nose, but she did.  She was just as beautiful as she was when I saw her the week before.  However, she was happy….at least for the time being.

School Search

My son just turned three years old a few weeks ago.  Ever since he made his grand entrance into the world, people have been asking, “Where will he go to school?”  Even before he was born I was asked what nursery he would go to!  I really did not know the answer to that question then, and now that he is three, I still have no idea of our preferred primary school.  While I know children grow up fast, do I really need to have the answer to this question now?  In Dubai, apparently I do.

  

There are public schools for locals in Dubai, but the rest of us send our children to one of the many private schools here.  While it is nice to have choices, I find the options and fees a bit overwhelming.  There are many different systems - American, British, International, etc. - all of which I am sure I do not know the difference.  And the prices, there are many to say the least. I know modern education is not cheap, but I really do not know what fee is proper value for the money.  My husband and I both attended regular, “what was available” schools and we like to think we didn’t turn out too bad.

Realizing I would want him to have some other stimulation than just home life when I returned to work, I started looking for nurseries shortly after he was born.  It was an eye opening experience, and I began to learn more about the mommy instinct.  I could walk into one place and in pretty much less than one minute understand if I liked it or if it felt like an appropriate place to send a child.  Sometimes it was a smell, or kids watching television that turned me off, other times it was an unexplainable feeling.

I found one nursery that I really liked compared to the others and since they took children from a young age, I preferred this rather than waiting until later.  However, there was a big issue in the manager, or head teacher, or whatever she was because according to her, it was just impossible that my child would get into that school because of the very important Waiting List.  I emphasize this word because it is almost like a four-letter word or cliché in this city, or something of a higher importance with almost divine power. 

I went back again a few weeks after my first visit to look and press more about this magic list and when it might open up.  Oh the vagueness.  “Well, we don’t really know”.  Huh?  You don’t know at all how long your waiting list is?  Now I have heard of the more desirable passport, and I believe most of the children at this school could have a British passport, so perhaps some riff raff from the colonies was not acceptable.  I pressed on this subject, but yet they just really did not know.  Whatever.

I am not sure if it has become apparent through my blog, but I am stubborn… or maybe the positive spin is determined.  Some of my son’s teachers have found him determined.  Kind women. 

I went back to look at the same nursery again with my husband because I really wanted our son in a good place before my maternity leave was up.  And while this woman was telling me it was virtually impossible in this lifetime, I am told that it is often the message that many good schools here send. I must be persistent.  So I play the game. 

My husband is much more clever and patient with these things than I am.  So we go, see the school, and again I listen to the impossibility of how long the list is.  I may have a better chance at walking on water. 

Just before leaving, my husband casually drops his business card and instructs the woman to call him in case anything opens up, as I will be travelling next week.   Ironically, about five days later he did get a phone call from the school saying a place had opened up.  I am sure that had nothing to do with the Ivy League school name that was on his business card at the time.

I was both happy he got in, but also very angry that a business card or a brand could have been the reason behind it.  I don’t care if it worked to my benefit.  Out of principal, it is not right.  It is not a bad school by any means.  I love it and so does my son, but I hate this kind of divide.  And I know it is not just in Dubai, this happens throughout the world.  I wish that everyone was treated equally and privy to the same opportunities, but sadly, this is a reminder that we are not.

This was just the experience for nursery school.  I have only begun to scratch the surface on the “big boy” schools and what waits for us out there!  

What the F?!

Last weekend I decided to take advantage of the tail end of the Dubai Shopping Festival to find some clothes on discount to fit my son who grows like a weed.  The prices of kids clothes is really almost criminal these days, so until they are older and much more choosier, this is the only way.

One thing that often surprises me here is the music that is played in some of the stores.  This was a place that sells beachwear and surfboards, so I get that the music should be a bit edgy, but when I hear the repeated use of the f-word, I am always a bit shocked and confused.  How does that work in a Sharia law country?  Even in a non-Sharia law country, it’s an unlikely mix except maybe in a tattoo parlor?  While Dubai is very cosmopolitan, I’m not just sure how down it is with urban language.

This is not the first time that I have come across this, nor am I the only one. I have other friends in Dubai who have had the same experience.  Once I was in a shop that sold professional clothing for men and women and some of the raunchiest rap music I have ever heard was on.  I asked the staff if they were aware of what the lyrics were saying; they had no idea.  When I explained them to the manager, he immediately ran to the back of the store and turned the music off creating a very embarrassing silence.

I’m personally not that offended by people who use the f-word, or other four letter words.  I grew up in Texas, and both men and women alike use it.  It can be useful sometimes.  At the least it’s a great emphasizer, or stress reliever.  I have cleaned it up now that I am a mom, although I am human, I digress sometimes.  I do not use it graphically, and I do not like to listen to it where my response is “eww” or some other similar reaction to disgust.

So, out of curiosity, I asked the manager who selects their music.  Perhaps it’s a playlist sent from the company.  For many vendors this is an important extension of their brand.  He informed me it was just various playlists from the employees’ i-pods.  Basically, whatever they were in the mood for.

So, I then have to ask, “How does that work with the f-word and all in Dubai?” He was kind of embarrassed and didn’t know what to say.  I didn’t want to embarrass him, or put him on the spot, but since I have come across this before, curiosity was killing me.  So I proceed.  “How does that work if His Highness, Sheikh Mohammed came in to shop?  I mean do you think he would mind the f-word in the music?” While his primary language is Arabic, like most locals in this country, he speaks English very well.

The shop manager then proceeds to explain to me that they would for sure change the music if Sheikh Mohammed, or someone else of high level came into the store.  I am visualizing this seeing staff leap over surfboards and bikinis as Sheikh Mohammed enters.  Would they make it to the i-pod in time to push the button to the next song, or even better, change it to the Sheikh Mohammed preferred surf playlist?

The manager then proceeded to ensure me that they were careful with their choice of music and if a song had too many profanities in it, then they definitely would not play it.  However, one or two f-words are okay.  How can I argue with this logic?  It clearly makes sense! 

On that note, I proceeded to purchase some new swimming shorts for my son and head over to the other beach shop across the hall to see if there was anything on sale for mom.  As I walked in, my favorite Nelly song Hot in Here was on.   I love this jam, and I probably do not understand half the lyrics with out the help of an urban dictionary.  For those of you not familiar with this song, its gettin’ hot and Nelly is encouraging a girl to strip as they dance.  But the groove is excellent.

Hospitalization Abroad

Last week I found myself in the hospital much to my surprise.  Fortunately, I am home, fine and all is well.  I am glad the several days of bed rest that resulted in a kind of urgent surgery are behind me.

I was expecting with all that time on my hands I would get a lot done and become very thoughtful, but I wasn’t.  Of course part of that is probably because I was thinking about my health and wondering when the whole ordeal would be over and I could go home.

I had been in the hospital before, and having worked as a hospital manager and healthcare consultant, I certainly knew what to expect.  I did spend some time thinking about people who are away from home and find themselves in the hospital.  It could make it more stressful for sure. 

All countries have good and bad hospitals, but thanks to international standards that try to mirror those in benchmark countries, you can often find equivalent, or in some cases better care than what you might experience back home.

When I was pregnant with my son three years ago, people would often ask if I was going to return to Istanbul or the US to deliver.  My take on it was always that babies are successfully delivered throughout the world.  With no signs of any risk, there was no reason for me to go anywhere else.  While family and friends in either place would welcome me if I wanted to do that, I wanted to be in my home as soon as possible after delivery.  A long flight just seemed like an added stress or risk I did not want to take with a newborn.

When there was a questionable time in my treatment last week, my husband and I called a few medical friends to ask their opinions.  It only confirmed what we were already discussing with my doctor here.  I did not doubt her, and we have known her for a few years and trusted her already; but since we were all a bit baffled for a few hours by my case, we called on all resources.

If you are from the US, and you call on your doctor there to give you any advice, I think you may have a hard time.  I actually tried this once in the past.  An American doctor I saw here in Dubai for several years returned to the US in the middle of some tests I was having.  I happened to catch her on one of her last days in Dubai.  When I got my test results, I actually called her new US practice to see if I could speak to her about them.  I also followed up with an email that resulted in no response.  It is unfortunate, but due to the legal environment in the US, doctors are scared.  Even though I ensured her I am not a nut case or stalker, I don’t blame her.  I would recommend the same thing to any physician where frivolous lawsuits run ramped.

The nurses and staff where I stayed were some of the best I had ever observed, so that made it more pleasant.   Thankfully, my care and treatment was all very typical of what would have happened anywhere else.

Certainly if you have something rare, or critical, don’t mess around with it.  In any case, regardless of where you are, find the best care you can afford.  For the routine, or common ailment, you should hopefully be fine.   

Hopefully if you have a similar experience, the worst that will happen is that you once again confirm that television is a vast wasteland and even though they try very hard, hospital food is not that great.

New Year's Eve Dubai Style

In Dubai, New Years Eve is a pretty big deal.  

I am not sure if it was always like that.  When I first moved here, I felt like things were pretty normal and moderate.  I think we can thank Buddha Bar for the onset of the over the top “spectacular” priced dinners.  The funky restaurant and bar was the first that I recall to offer a New Year’s Eve dinner at the price of 1,000 AED per person.  This is just under 300 USD.  I remember how shocked my friends and I were at the time, but they got away with it because there were not as many places open as there are today.  And I guess it was the place to be seen.  Don’t get me wrong; it’s a nice place.  I guess if you have great music and can get away with a 30-foot Buddha in a Sharia law country where religious icons and paraphernalia that do not represent Islam are technically a crime, then you can charge a lot for your party.  When other outlets learned people would actually pay such a price, everyone offered similar prices for the years to follow.  Thus enter the “typical” Dubai New Year scene.

Most often we have found ourselves among friends at home.  Last year we went out to a semi-private dinner where we had an amazing roof top view of the fireworks at the Atlantis Hotel on the Palm Jumeriah as well as those on the beach near the Burj Al Arab.  We were able to look down from our bird’s eye view and see people who spent a lot of money for fancy dinners, as well as those who flocked to the neighboring open beach to ring in the New Year for free.

One year when some friends were visiting from Istanbul, we decided to go to the desert.  We found a place offering dinner, music, dancing and camping at a very affordable price so we booked it.  For sure this was one of our most memorable evenings ever because we learned after we arrived that this was more geared toward the Indian population in Dubai – so much that we were the only Caucasians there.  This didn’t bother us at all, but I better understood why my Indian coworkers would pause when I told them of our plans.  We had a blast watching them dance to the sounds of who we assumed was a famous Indian DJ.  As it gets very cold in the desert around this time of year it was not long before we were dancing with them just to stay warm.  We danced all night.

At the end of the party everyone hopped on buses to head back into town with the exception of us and maybe five other people.  They offered us huts around the camp that were used to market various things during the party.  My only issue with this evening was hearing the desert mice squeak beneath my hut as they celebrated their New Year in style with all the party leftovers that would be cleaned up the next day.

So this year when discussing how to greet 2011 with our friends, everyone wanted it to be reasonably priced.  The previous Buddha Bar example is now the price floor.  Despite a slower economy, you will be hard pressed to find a "moderately" priced evening out unless you are camping on your own.  We also wanted our children to join because some of our friends with older children were wondering how long before they will not find it cool to hang out with their parents on NYE.

In the end one friend threw a big house party, which we did not attend as all of us had been sick throughout the week.  We decided to go small and rather than cook, get some ready gourmet food and eat on our balcony at home.  If we decided to stay home, we could watch the Burj Khalifa fireworks from our balcony, or we could walk across the street to see the festivities in full.

As planned, I got my sick self up around 7:00pm and went with my husband to get the food.  The huge mall parking lot was already full with people that were ready to ring in the New Year under the Burj Khalifa.  I dropped off my husband and drove around several times until he came out with the goods. 

Back home we had a lovely dinner and then played with our son until a later than usual bedtime.   Although tired, and a bit sluggish trying to digest our food, we walked across the street to the Burj Khalifa, Dubai Mall area.  We didn’t even need to get into the park or water fountain side.  It was already full of people in the streets, on the bridges, on the grass.

I set up my tri-pod next to a few other photographers planning to catch some snaps of the show.  As we waited for it to begin, I watched the people around me.  It was great, and reminded me of one of Dubai’s most endearing qualities.  There were people from all walks of life, from all over the world out with their friends and families ready to celebrate the New Year. 

As I mention, the UAE is a Sharia law country, so alcohol is not compliant.  They do make it available for “tourists” in most of the Emirates at bars and restaurants that have a tourist license to serve it – most of which are in hotels.  Now I love wine with my dinner and a little toast at midnight, but I have to admit it was kind of both refreshing and strange to not see anyone make a fool of themself on the street.  It was all very pleasant.

After the fireworks show, many proceeded to leave rather than hang out in the streets.  I assume one reason for this is that many people here celebrate Islamic New Year, rather than the Gregorian calendar New Year.  Like all other Islamic holidays, it follows the citing of the moon, so it does not fall on the same day every year.

But in this instance, it did not matter what holiday it was or what you believe in.  I saw many conservative and non-conservative people.  There were women who were totally covered with their husbands who wore long conservative beards and dress to match as well as scantily clad women carrying their high heels because their feet were hurting from walking.  At one point I started counting how many different languages and accents I heard.  Within five minutes, I probably counted around ten.

While many people were heading back to the main roads, we walked in the opposite direction into the crowds to experience who was there and what was going on.  We could not believe our eyes - tens of (possibly) hundreds of thousands of people.  My husband estimated around 200,000.  I had no idea, but it far exceeded what we expected. 

The Burj Khalifa was only opened in December 2009, so this was the first year the complex was open for a New Year celebration.  It was spectacular and we enjoyed every minute of it and the festive, peaceful environment.

I love those moments where you realize you just a spec on the earth, or a part of something bigger. In a crowd of so many foreigners, so many languages and cultures, you can’t help but be reminded of how diverse the world is. Hopefully 2011 will be a peaceful, prosperous year for everyone.