Life Story: Crippled From Bad Butt Implants

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In my younger years I made a decision to get a bigger butt, I chose a subpar doctor who gave me bad butt implants. And now my body is punishing me!

I have been crippled and confined to a wheelchair in the past eight weeks, a result of bad butt implants I did some fifteen years ago. As I am writing to you, I am perched in my wheelchair. The main reason I am reaching out to you is so I can figure out what and how to break this news to my husband of eleven years. I may just hand the article over to him to read and spare myself the agony of telling him. He doesn’t know about the butt implants. Heck, I didn’t realize that what was happening to my body was a result of the butt implant, until my last doctor’s visit two weeks ago. I know I have upended my life with the choices of my youth. Regret is my name.

I am an Igbo. And I was almost the Igbo standard of beauty. Fair, pretty face. Dimpled cheeks and chin. A swan ringed-neck, long, well-defined legs. Ample bosoms and pearly white teeth to die for. I say, “ I was almost the Igbo standard of beauty,” because I lacked the coveted curved mound of a big butt. I had some butt, enough to give me some sort of a nice shape, but I coveted the figure eight build up. My natural butt wasn’t enough, it didn’t pop.

Since my adolescence, people have told me, “You have such a pretty face.” A few very unhelpfully added, “All you need is a big butt and you’d make a millionaire’s wife.” And so anytime anyone complimented my pretty face specifically, even if they didn’t add the backhanded compliment of my body not matching up to my face, I would tell myself they said it in their heart.

In 2006 I completed my first degree in Petroleum Engineering with honors. And my Dean Of Students, whose teenage sons I taught mathematics on weekends helped me secure a job in a big oil corporation in Port Harcourt. The pay was great, I was young with very little responsibility, so I saved most of my income. I had a good life, drove a nice car, lived in a nice neighborhood and ran with a crowd of ‘high class’ ladies. Most of those ladies were older than me, most were married to oil tycoons; they all had perfect bodies.

One federal holiday while out on the beach with some of my pals, they began discussing various procedures they had lined up to do on their bodies. One needed a tummy tuck, another had planned a facelift, another was scheduled for liposuction, on and on they went. One made a passing joke that I was young and fresh, I didn’t need any tuck in, I had no sagging skin. We all had a good laugh.

But when the drinks finally hit me, I had enough courage to tell my group of friends that I wanted a bigger butt. Did they have a good doctor? They knew just the doctors to recommend me to. One practiced in the USA, in Los Angeles. And Another was in Mexico. Both doctors were great for a butt implant, according to my friends. So I did my homework. I made phone calls and researched the internet. Both doctors said they would give me a silicone implant. I studied the silicone butt implant size chart and chose my desired size; not outrageously big, not small either, just perfect.

When it came down to a decision, I chose the Mexican doctor. He was essentially providing the same service as the American, but for $2500 less. I flew to Mexico with a couple of my friends to have my butt size increased. My friends did various procedures, some were new procedures, others were maintenance of old procedures.

About a week and half later when the swelling died down, I had my mound. My butt was popping! My butt implant did its job. I finally had my perfect body, complete with a perfect booty.

I hit the gym to keep my new shape in check, I needed my waist to stay slim and snatched. People used to tell me I could pass for a Rita Dominic body double. I was proud of me! I went to Mexico about two more times to check on my butt and make sure all was well. All was well.

I eventually met my husband, an oil executive, we dated for a year and got married. We’ve had three children, our lives are full. I love the life we have. I know my husband has a special disdain for plastic surgery, he hates fake eyelashes, and excessive makeup. He always praises my natural beauty. And so I kept my butt implants to myself.

Three months ago, I woke up from bed and as soon as I stood up, my legs buckled under me and I fell. That was the beginning of my woes. I went from hospital to hospital and received all kinds of tests and treatments, all to no avail. Some dark veins began to appear on my legs and my knees got weaker and weaker.

I remember my mother in law praying hot-fire prayers to scatter all the witches and wizards from my village trying to destroy my life. And my poor husband, he has been beside himself with anguish. I know that man loves me to bits.

Two weeks ago he took me to a doctor in Abuja, who did a full body MRI on me. He said there was a foreign substance in my body, from my waist down. He didn’t quite know what it was, but he was sure it was responsible for my legs giving up. He said he might have to make an incision to get a sample of the substance to test and figure out a way forward.

As soon as he began explaining, I knew. I knew it was the butt implant. Whatever grade of silicone had been put in my body did not stay put. And now I have silicone leaking through my body. I don’t know how it happened but my guess is the grade of silicone butt implant I got was not a proper grade of silicone.

And so here I sit, paralyzed, hopefully temporarily from a bad but implant. And I am in a dilemma, I don’t know how to begin to confess to my husband. How do I say, ” I think I am paralyzed because I went to Mexico and got bad butt implants?

What is the price tag for beauty? How much are you willing pay?

Editor’s Note:

All names have either been removed or changed to protect the contributor’s privacy. This is especially due to the fact that her husband isn’t aware of her butt implants yet.

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