I flew to Turkey for hair transplantation: Criticism

In January, I sat in a bright room in Istanbul, while a doctor looked under the rapidly retreating line of my hair and asked, “Do you want to download it?”
I was not flying 13 hours from Los Angeles to bring it upThis is for sure. But were it all? I hope they face my whole head. “And fill in the gaps here?” I suggested, splitting a tuft mid-scalp.

Rejected this, saying, “There are medicines for it.”

My face was flushed. I had taken the finasteride and minoxidil, the golden model for hair loss treatment, since 2019. Was there something else I had lost? I thought I had done my due diligence. I am 31 years old and since I got to Turkey, I already had a hair transplant three years ago in Los Angeles. The results were sluggish: my hair improved for some time, but very soon, I started to observe the scalp more and more. It is difficult to know if this was due to an ineffective process or persistent thinning. Either way, I came back to wear hats and be afraid of sudden gusts of the wind.

I know the baldness is beautiful. It is the recession phase with which I am fighting. For me, it seems that there is less dignity in the weakness of reduced hair than the feasibility of full scalp. And yet I wasn’t ready to shave everything. I wasn’t sure I had my face about it. I entered the internal work of peace with my inevitable baldness until last year, when I heard about people taking hair transplants to Turkey from my friends (and Tiktok). Procedures There are thousands of dollars cheaper than in the US – and more aggressive, allowing denser packed follicles in a single mode. My algorithm gave me so very satisfying for what I almost felt negligent not to go. After a friend with gorgeous hair, he gave me the name of his doctor – who came from six other gays – I decided to give a transplant another attempt. Whatsapped the photos of my head office, wired a $ 500 deposit and was held for two months later.

At the clinic, the doctor dragged a pencil beyond my forehead and hit the numbers in an assistant. After 30 seconds, he ran and nodded. In the mirror my assistant gave me, I looked at the rough butter that the doctor had pulled a quarter of the inch under my hair line. Is it very low? I had forgotten what to look like hair.

“I don’t want to do too much …” I said, compensation. I had seen some real work online – blunt, straight lines so far on the front that essentially lean against the eyebrow. A friend had warned me: “Don’t bring it inferior to God who initially gave you.”

My assistant had lifted my eyebrows and showed me that the new hair line wouldn’t even come close to the midfielders. “That’s very good,” he smiled. “Very natural.”

My eyes were wet. All of this felt rushed and elementary. “I just want to check with my friend,” I mumbled as I got selfish in the area – you can’t really “overthrow” such a process. I had more questions, but the doctor was already brushing beyond me. From the door, he called: “This will be a very beautiful result.” This was the first and last time I would see the doctor. The assistant observed my nerves and assured me. “Don’t worry, it’s the architect. We’re the builders,” he said.

We walked beyond a bar where the men shouted by the men dug the tea. Some had welded or bloody rugs, a gloomy reminder of my future. In a back office, I handed over over $ 3,100 in cash. This covered both my process and the four nights of residence. Including my flight and deposit, I spent about $ 5,000 in total. (Hair Transplantation costs me $ 8,900 for fewer cuttings.)

My adrenaline was too high to read many of the publications they gave me. I tried to ignore a section that started, “it is possible to make transplanted hair thinner …” and signed on the lower line.

I was told to look at details about Whatsapp in front of my process the next day. Everything had been notified at the last minute through encrypted messages, which gave all the operation of the illegal air of a drug agreement. This could feel exciting if I was in a better mood.

I spent the afternoon thinking about calling the whole thing. I felt silly that I am coming all this time – to take over medical tourism, as people are burning. I could not shake the feeling that this was a fool’s work, just another band for problems that would never really go: my self -confidence, vanity and anxiety about aging. Hoping to clear my mind, I walked the streets of Constantinople. Everywhere I went, I saw the men with bloody heads. I shook them in solidarity while wondering if we had all lost our minds.

I received instructions to meet at 7am. In the lobby of the budget hotel they put me on (away from the luxurious suites I had seen in Tiktok). I went to bed early, but I pulled several times with racing thoughts on an irrevocably irregular line. I was still awake when I heard the morning call to prayer that reacted by the nearest mosque. I pulled the submerged cost of traveling to get me out of bed.

The clinic was full of activity as I waited on a bench. I asked a man next to me, “Have you seen what they call this place on the internet?”

Fell. “A hair farm?”

“What do you think about it?”

“I want to say, for sure,” he said. ‘But I wanted A hair farm! People who say: “I want something more personal – I want to get to know the doctor and I want the doctor to do the procedure,” I think, they are joking. ” His logic was that the more the transplantation, the better. It’s muscle memory for them. ”
This guy has all foundI thought, I feel more comfortable.

After being named my name, a nurse took the iPhone photos of my head in front of a branded setting, like a step-by-and-repelled, but he does it clinical. Then he threw me like sheep. I was close to tears again, but I told myself to take a handle.

In the operating room, they are hooked on all the cables for me. A young woman in a top cultivation was presented as a translator of mine. He explained that they would make extracts from the back of my head, break for lunch and then finish with front transplants. The procedure will take about six hours. I would be under the general anesthesia of light – awake, but drowsiness.

I returned to my stomach and put my face on a donut pillow. They organized confused shots at the back of my scalp. From there, I don’t remember much in the morning before turning over a plastic sandwich and a pill, but starving. After lunch, a different doctor checked my head. With my cutting, the hair line looked reasonable – necessary, even.

“Let’s do it!” I said. I feel like we all hit.

The transplant process noted by. There was no music. All I had to get myself out of the transplant goats was the living debate of the nurses in Turkish.

I wondered if I wanted to be this sleepless. I was discussed by saying something, but I was worried that I would stop the flow of nurses. I tried to calculate how long it would take to move 2,950 cuttings on average 15 per minute, but I was never good at math. I made some countdown. I tried the breath. When I couldn’t stand it anymore, I put my hand. Nurses stopped to tear down and asked, “Pain?”

“No, no, I would just like to talk to the translator,” I said. After a few minutes, a different translator entered. It was amazing. I felt better already.

“Pain;” he asked.

“No, no, I’m just …” How can I put this on? “I feel very awake.”

“Being awake is good!” He said. Touched my hand. “You are almost over. About an hour left.” I wanted to stay with his hand on me, but he said he would come back soon. I repeat the breathing box until the back of my head is stuck as a fedex pack, sat me and gave me another pill. Hundreds of little red dots protrude from my scalp. Looked like this spider doll Game story. I guess it was normal but what did I know?

In my hotel room, I sent selfies to all I have ever met. Some people claimed to seem well with a shaved head, blood aside. If I just heard it before my flight. I woke up at night to intense pain around my head, but by the morning, he was gone. Back in the clinic, they removed the bandages, cleaned my head and gave me a “laser treatment”, which simply meant to sit under a red light for ten minutes.

As I got up from the chair, I hit my head against the machine. I shouted, I had definitely destroyed everything. The nurse ran and examined the area. He said I was well. I did not harm the cuttings. I was not convinced, but we had to move on.

In a room with three other patients, the translator recites post -operative care instructions at auction. Apply a special shampoo after three days, avoid alcohol and sex for five, sleep in a raised position for seven. You can wear a loose hat after ten days, but there are no helmets or beans for 45. Cardio after 15 days, but no training force for 30. I could just follow but said they would send everything.

During my journey, I mentioned that I was curious about PRP and external treatments for hair loss. The words have just left my mouth when the translator said, “I can take you there now.” Within minutes, another doctor put another syringe on my head. This was full of my own creature and some vegetable stem cells. Don’t ask me about science, because I just don’t know. It costs an additional $ 750, which Chatgpt assured me was a fraction of what would be the price in the US when in Istanbul!

I was proceeded to an airport truck with data analyst from Denver. I imagined that they would look like a pretty couple walking through security, but we were only two of the many bloody men carrying luggage. No one cared.

Back in Los Angeles, we isolated myself in my apartment for two weeks, stumbling and worrying about all the guidelines after OP. I made soup and panicked – what if the steam relaxed the cuttings? I found the consolation in the R/Hairtransplants substitutes. A post asked if a transplant could be destroyed with sneezing or masturbation very soon. Ended with, “I need to see a tbh shrink.” I put it on.

I am currently four months after processing. My mom says she’s happy that I can finally put it behind me, but I don’t feel so sure. I can’t expect real results for six months to one year, but every day, I look at my hair in the mirror and analyze its progress. The transplanted area seems to be filled nice, but now I fasten the middle step. It still seems thin to me and I am worried that it will only deteriorate with age.

In the meantime, I have developed a new obsession: low -level laser treatment. Limited studies in rats show that it can improve hair density. I just have to commit to wearing a helmet for ten minutes a day for the rest of my life. I ordered one for $ 799. When the lid arrived, I gently put it on my head and waited. I can’t see anything yet to change, but I know these things take time. That, I’m sure, it will save me.