Ten months ago I almost died. Not because of an illness or a terrible accident, but because he was desperate to improve what he thought was a bodily “defect.”
Wanting to have a bigger, lifted butt, I underwent a type of non-surgical beauty treatment known as a Brazilian butt lift, or BBL.
I didn’t realize that BBL, which involves injecting dermal filler into the butt, is notoriously dangerous. It still feels good to think about how close I came to leaving my children (Amelia, 11, and Jack, nine) without a mother in my pursuit of perfection.
In September, Alice Webb, a British mother of five, died after a BBL. His story stunned me: that could have been me.
You’re probably wondering why I, a 38-year-old mother with a loving partner, would pay for this risky “upgrade.”
The truth is that I spent many years unhappy with my appearance. At about 12, I noticed a lump on my nose that I wished I could smooth out.
Maybe it was just the usual teenage angst, but my dissatisfaction continued into adulthood, even after I met my partner Steven, now 44, a carpenter. We live in Hertfordshire and in 2013 I set up an academy to teach makeup and beauty techniques.
Ten months ago, Claire Johnson nearly died after undergoing a Brazilian butt lift. He did not realize that the procedure was notoriously dangerous.
After having children in my twenties, I struggled with my postnatal body and developed what I believe was a form of body dysmorphia. I hated my breasts, I felt like they had lost volume and I believed that surgery was the only solution.
Then, six years ago, I had surgery and had my breasts enlarged from 28D to 28F. It cost me £2900 and I was very happy with the results.
It meant I wanted more. Two years later I had a nose job and liposuction on my legs, back and waist – a £5,000 two-for-the-price-of-one deal. Then I had another boob job, going from 28F to 28G.
Each time I healed well and, frankly, I loved the results. So when I heard about butt lift treatments, I started researching. I always felt like my butt lacked volume and shape.
There are several types of BBL. I knew I didn’t want to do a “fat transfer” as that would mean gaining weight to create fat to inject into my butt.
I also didn’t want implants, as I had heard too many horror stories about them rupturing.
The most cost-effective treatment seemed to be liquid filler, the type used on the face, injected into each buttock. The clinics I read about claimed this was safer too.
I thought I was careful not to go abroad, where it is usually cheaper but more things can go wrong. However, looking back, I realize that I did not do basic safety checks, such as researching the professional’s qualifications and experience. I chose a cosmetic clinic I had been to before to fill my lips, jawline and cheeks.
This clinic’s social networks are always full of discounts (something that perhaps should have set off alarm bells). In January of this year, I saw an offer for BBL and contacted them via Instagram, telling them I wanted “volume and projection.” A week later, I drove three hours to London for a consultation.
There, an advanced aesthetic practitioner (not a doctor) told me I would need 400ml of filler. Less, they said, and it wouldn’t be noticed. It would cost more than £4,000.
I have since discovered that this is an excessive amount of filler and is not safe at all. One of the largest blood vessels in the body is located in this area, so the more fat or filler that is injected, the greater the risk it can enter this vessel and cause an embolism (a blockage) and even death.
Infection rates are also much higher with this treatment than with other fillers, but I was not told any of this. They were the experts and I trusted them.
Admittedly, I was surprised when they told me they could do the procedure on the same day, but I decided to do it, a hasty decision that I now bitterly regret.
They said the procedure was “painless,” but the doctor gave me injectable lidocaine (a form of local anesthetic) which made me feel dizzy. Twice he stopped the procedure to give me glucose tablets to stop the dizziness and give me more painkiller.
By the time it was over, I could see something wasn’t right. It looked like too much padding had been inserted into my butt and the skin was wrinkling. I was told it was “normal,” but I shouldn’t drive for more than an hour.
The clinic knew I had come from Hertfordshire and I started to panic. How was I going to get home? I decided to take a chance and take regular breaks while driving.
I can’t describe the pain of that trip, much worse than after my two c-sections.
When I got home, my butt was throbbing with agony. I contacted the clinic and asked if I could take ibuprofen and even have a glass of wine to relieve stress. I have since discovered that you should not take ibuprofen, aspirin or any anti-inflammatory medications after the procedure as it can cause more bruising. Obviously wine is not a good idea either.
They said yes to both.
That night I barely slept. The next day, I was in so much pain that I had to come home early from work and lie face down. He had a temperature and the wounds were red and angry. When I contacted the clinic, the receptionist said this was “normal.”
Claire developed sepsis and had to undergo surgery to remove the dying tissue.
For four days I endured agonizing pain. On Sunday morning I took off the bandages and realized something was very wrong. One of the small incisions where the filler had been inserted was infected and oozing. I took a photo and sent it to the clinic, but once again I was told this was “normal.”
I didn’t believe them and said I needed antibiotics. Only then did the practitioner herself get in touch and promise to give me antibiotics in two days.
My partner Steven was very worried at the time and insisted that I should go to the hospital. Still unsure if I should try to cope with the pain, I decided to contact Kate Ross, a senior aesthetic nurse (and owner of The Clinic by La Ross), whom I knew through my work in the beauty industry. He runs post-surgical clinics for people who have had problems with cosmetic treatments.
He immediately told me that I had to go to the emergency room. It was a decision that probably saved my life.
Steven took me to our local A&E, but the staff told us to drive to Lister Hospital, just outside Stevenage in Hertfordshire.
The doctors at Lister immediately suspected sepsis and I was suddenly terrified to think I was about to die. I felt a knot in my stomach thinking about my children: how would they manage without me?
Doctors took blood samples to check for infection and inserted a cannula to administer antibiotics.
I was told that safe markers for infection should be between five and ten; mine were 500. I was prepared for emergency surgery.
Steven went home to get me some toiletries and clothes. When he returned, they did not let him stay; I was scared and alone. By then I could barely walk and was wheeled into the ward, still in agonizing pain.
The plastic surgeon said the wound looked “necrotic,” meaning my flesh was literally dying. The next day, under general anesthesia, I had surgery to remove the dying tissue, during which I was told my infection markers rose to 600.
When I woke up, I was groggy and in a lot of pain. He had stoma bags attached to his wounds that were rapidly filling with infected fluid. It was horrible. The surgeon kept saying that he should receive “nothing orally” in case he needed another operation.
My kids stayed with my mom while Steven worked. I couldn’t face them; I didn’t want them to know how sick I was.
Steven was upset too. He knew I had had the BBL, but neither of us thought it was a big deal. I couldn’t believe it had caused so much pain and danger to my health.
The mother of two says she will never work again because she wants to set a good example for her daughter.
I was able to leave the hospital after a week, but nine days later, during a checkup, they discovered the superbug MRSA in my blood, so they admitted me again.
After that I was allowed to go home, but kept on an intravenous drip for two weeks and antibiotics for three.
During those three weeks I still had stoma bags in place, collecting the fat and padding that oozed out of my butt. I also lost weight: I went from 7.11 pounds to 7.2 pounds (I’m only 5’2″).
Today I have healed, but I will always carry the physical and emotional scars. I feel terrible guilt for what happened. When I think about it, I feel bad. I could have died and I would no longer be someone’s mother, partner or daughter.
I still have lumps and bumps: a big scar on my right cheek that I’ve covered with a tattoo, and some scarring on my left. But at least I’m alive.
I tried to get a lawyer involved at one point (I feel like the clinic failed in their duty of care), but since I can’t prove where the infection came from, I was told I don’t have a case. Despite the well-documented risks of BBL, it remains legal.
I sent a message to the clinic demanding a refund and they sent me threatening letters saying I should not defame them. However, they have refunded me the full amount of the treatment and I think that is an admission of guilt.
As for me, they will never do anything to my body again. I still struggle, I feel bad about the way I look, but instead of having more surgeries, I’m getting therapy to try to deal with it.
I want to set a good example for my daughter about respecting your body.
To other women who are tempted to try a BBL, I would say, “Don’t do it.”
If I can prevent just one woman from going through what I experienced (and possibly leaving behind a grieving family), then my story is worth telling.