Crazy story from the L.A. Times: An 85 year old surgeon was placed on three years probation after a patient he performed vaginal rejuvenation surgery on bled to death back in 2008.  According to the article, Dr. Lawrence Hansen performed this procedure on a 39 year old woman, and was immediately followed by Dr. Harrell Robinson, an ENT physician, who subsequently performed liposuction and a butt lift.  She bled to death soon afterwards from an accidental internal hemorrhage.

There are so many alarming details of this story that I don’t know where to start.   First of all, I hope that I’m sitting on a beach somewhere sipping a Pina Colada when I’m in my 80′s and not in an operating room.  That being said, there are many surgeons in their 80′s who may be perfectly capable and fine surgeons, but that hopefully won’t be me.  And what is an ENT doctor performing liposuction and a buttock lift for?  The buttocks are a long way from the head and neck.  That’s almost as crazy as an ER doc performing plastic surgery!  Don’t get me going on that…

If you are thinking about plastic surgery, do your homework and pick a REAL plastic surgeon certified by the American Board of Plastic Surgery and a member of the American Society of Plastic Surgeons.  A cosmetic surgeon is NOT the same as a plastic surgeon, like my old Ford Tempo from college is not the same as my Lincoln MKX.

To learn about IN STITCHES, my memoir of becoming a plastic surgeon, click here.

Cartoon credit: www.cartoonstock.com

The internet is all abuzz about whether Bristol Palin may have had plastic surgery.  My initial gut reaction was NOOOO!!!!  But after looking at photos, I think she actually has!

Her chin looks more sculpted and the fat under it is gone.  This could be due to a chin augmentation with an implant and liposuction under her neckline.  Her brows are elevated and more arched, prompting some to speculate that she’s had a surgical browlift.  I disagree.  Few plastic surgeons would perform a surgical browlift on a 20 year old.  Botox injections, which can cause a lifting of the brows in some, are much more likely.  Overall I think she looks good, although I wonder how much of the changes are due to maturation and weight loss.

She looks kind of like a brown-haired Christina Aguilera now.

For the ultimate plastic surgeon tell-all, check out my book IN STITCHES, available on Amazon.com here.

Photo credit: Washington Post

Enjoy this funny video a friend of mine made in honor of In Stitches! The Best Cheesy Pickup Lines Ever! I wish I had tried some of these back when I was single and couldn’t get a date. Maybe I would have gotten somewhere.

In Stitches Update: Thank you to everyone who made it out to my four signings! Overall it was a great experience, with more enthusiasm for the book than I ever could have hoped. We sold out of the book in two out of the four signings! Please be sure to pick up your copy of the book Dr. Robert Rey (Dr. 90210) calls “witty” and “well-written!” You can buy In Stitches on Amazon.com or BarnesandNoble.com.

December.

Beverly Hills. Movie stars, pop icons, and miles and miles of work done on boobs, eyelids, lips, noses, tummies, and butts, much of it shaped, enlarged, reduced, and reconstructed by Dr. Romeo Bouley, PSS—Plastic Surgeon to the Stars.

I ease my rented Ford Escort onto Century Boulevard outside of LAX and hit the 405 on‑ramp. Forty minutes later, I coax the Escort up the Pacific Coast Highway and head to the Malibu Beach Colony.  Every car I pass is a Benz, BMW, Jag, Rolls, or Bentley. Every car. And every driver shoots me a look that says this guy’s either lost or someone’s gardener.

Dr. Romeo Bouley’s house sits along a beach as white as talcum powder, the house framed by two leaning palm trees embracing fronds like an elderly couple, darkening the front of a three-story Spanish mansion in shadow. Dr. Bouley has insisted I drive right from the airport to his house for a drink. He wants to get acquainted before we jump in first thing in the morning. I park my rented clunker in his driveway behind two Benzes and a Rolls. I walk up to his front door, pause to soak in the late-afternoon Southern California sun. Man. December, seventy degrees, and everyone owns a fifty-thousand-dollar car. I could get used to La La Land.

I step onto Dr. Bouley’s Spanish-tiled front patio, aim my finger at his doorbell, and freeze. The cost of my three one-month electives suddenly whips into my head like a ripped cash-register tape. I’m beyond broke. Choosing My Own Adventure has emptied my bank account and forced me to take on new loans on top of my old loans. And I’m about to shell out even more money. Next month, I will begin traveling the country to interview for residencies in both plastic surgery and general surgery, my backup in case I get completely shut out of plastic surgery. It could happen. My sneak-attack interview with the chief resident in Springfield still stings. Since plastic surgery is so competitive, I figure I’ll need to apply to at least fifty residencies. I crunch some quick numbers in my head and nearly choke. The moment I become a doctor, I will owe over $100,000. The number nearly sends me running straight back to my rented Escort. Screw it. No point worrying now. At least I’m saving a little money this trip because my brother has moved to Los Angeles and invited me to stay on the floor of his apartment. A big hello once again to Mom’s Korean sleeping cushion.

Whap. The front door jerks open, knocks me back to reality. A large man, six-three at least, thick shoulders, trim waist, white hair sculpted into what looks like two sand dunes, an impressive sloping beak of a nose, sparkling gray eyes, glistening teeth, grips me in a handshake strong enough to bend iron. He wears dark blue scrubs with Romeo Bouley, MD embroidered on the pocket. The first time I’ve seen designer scrubs.

“Saw you out here, wondered why you didn’t ring the bell. Tony, right?”

“Yes, Dr. Bouley—”

“Romeo. Come in, come in. Let’s get you a drink. You look thirsty.”

He slaps my back hard enough to dislodge a chicken bone. I step into his living room and stop dead in my tracks. It looks as if I’ve wandered into an antique store—Oriental rugs, ornate chests of drawers, end tables, dining room sets piled on top of each other, trumpets, tubas, clarinets, two accordions, violins, harps, and at least one lute.

Most of all, scattered throughout the room on all of the furniture, on the mantelpiece, and stacked in every corner are lamps, hundreds of lamps—shaped and painted like naked women.

“Impressive, huh?”

“I’ve never seen anything like it. Like them. Like your collection.”

“I know. I must have fifteen hundred naked-women lamps. I get ’em from all over the world. Some of the boobs light up. You can read by ’em. Use ’em for a night-light. What are you drinking?”

“Water is fine.”

“No, no. I got a beauty from Sonoma breathing in the kitchen. I’m talking about a wine.” He roars. “You want to see the rest of the house?”

“Yes, sure, love to.”

I trail him through four thousand square feet, five bedrooms, six bathrooms filled with antiques and the other thousand naked-lady lamps. They’re everywhere—on the kitchen counter, on the stairs, atop the refrigerator, on the back of toilets. We circle back to the living room. Romeo pushes aside a pile of crap on a velvet love seat, sinks down, and pats the seat next to him. I crunch into a velvet whoosh.

“How do you like Beverly Hills? Kinda reminds you of Springfield, doesn’t it?” Head thrown back, another roar. A moment later, he socks back half his goblet of red wine, throws a long thick arm across the entire length of the love seat onto my shoulder. “So, what do you know about me?”

I actually do know something about Romeo Bouley, MD. I checked him out online. He carries the reputation as the go‑to plastic surgeon among actresses, models, and strippers and has dated at least one A‑list actress. Allegedly. He’s also loaded. Allegedly.

“Nothing, really,” I say.

“Oh yeah? Bullshit.”

“Well, Dr. Kanner says you’re the best.”

He shrugs, drains the rest of his wine. I’ve barely touched mine.

“Another,” he says.

“Oh, no, thank you, I’m fine.”

“I was talking to myself.” He laughs so hard the love seat shakes, then wriggles his butt, extracts himself from the divot he’s made in the cushion, and propels himself into the kitchen.

“Everything you’ve heard about me is true,” he says over his shoulder.

He returns in five seconds, a meaty hand wrapped around a dusty wine bottle. “You’re a smart kid. I assume you’ve done some research.

Be disappointed if you haven’t.” He catches me in midsip. Before I can answer, he says, “I’ve done some research about you.”

“Okay, I have read a little about you.”

“Good. You’re opening up. So you know. Now, look, starting tomorrow, you’re gonna see some shit. So let’s be straight with each other from now on, dig?”

“Yes. Sure. Dig.”

“What do you want to know?”

I reach my wineglass over to the antique map chest Romeo uses as a coffee table. I set it down. “Have you ever dated a patient?”

“Never. I do date actresses and models, but they’re never my patients. That’s rule number one. Never date a patient. Rule number two, never date a patient. Don’t go near a patient’s boobs outside the operating room. Dig?”

“Not a problem. I have a girlfriend.”

“I have a couple.” Romeo plops back down on the love seat, landing like an anchor. “You’re not in Kansas anymore, big guy. Or Grand Rapids. Or Springfield. We don’t do a lot of Farmer Fred losing his pointer in the wood chipper. We do Miss September. Miss March. The Playmate of the Year. The star of a certain sitcom. The whole cast of a daytime soap. Vegas superstars. Most of the Nudes on Ice. They’re all stunning, and most are available. We’re the rock stars of medicine, Youner. We get all the tail, all the glory, and all the money. A lot of docs hate us. I get it. They’re jealous. Most of them want to trade places with us.”

I stare at him until he blinks. “What?”

“How did you know people call me Youner?”

Romeo Bouley, MD, once again lifts himself up from the love seat. “Told you. I did my research.”

More to come.

To read Bevely Hills Bloodsuckers, Part Two, click here!

To buy IN STITCHES, my critically-acclaimed memoir about becoming a plastic surgeon, click below:

This week I had the privilege of being interviewed by Michel Martin on NPR’s Tell Me More. We discussed a multitude of topics related to IN STITCHES, including growing up Asian American, plastic surgery, the hidden motivations behind becoming a physician, and the Doctor-God complex.

Thank you to NPR’s Tell Me More and Michel Martin for having me on your fine show!

Third elective. Day one.

I stand outside the office of Romeo Bouley, MD, in Beverly Hills. I gape at the stained-glass windows in the burnished oak doors. I rub the stained glass lightly, shake my head, and step into the waiting room— leather couches, modern art, an Oriental rug, and twenty more naked lady lamps. The receptionist, a former or potential centerfold, directs me to Romeo’s office down the hall. An Oriental runner leads me to him. On the way, I pass framed covers of magazines that have featured Romeo—People, Us Weekly, Playboy, Penthouse, and a shocker, The Saturday Evening Post.

I knock at his door frame; the door is open. He beckons me in, waves me to an armchair. 

His office? Leather, leather, leather, naked-lady lamps.

“You meet Heather?”

“The receptionist? She’s very nice.”

“Unbelievable, right? I did them. And no, I never did her. You cannot date your staff, either. That’s another rule.”
“For me, it’s not an issue. I have a girlfriend—”

“Okay, listen. Lesson number one.” He jabs a button on his desk. Behind me, the door whirs, rattles, and closes with a thwack. “Plastic surgery is like dating.” He pauses to let this sink in. “Patient comes in for a consultation. Your first date. You make small talk, feel each other out, see if you’re compatible. You have to look good, Youner. You look like crap, sloppy, whatever, she’s outta there. She comes in because she wants to look good. How you look matters. Dig?”

“Yes.” I sneak a look at what I’m wearing. White shirt, cords. I shaved. Showered. Applied deodorant. Combed my hair. Slapped on cologne. I think I’m all right.

He sees me checking myself out. “You pass. Now. While she’s feeling you out on this first date, you’re feeling her out, too. Main thing we’re looking for is crazy. We want to avoid crazy. We see crazy, we run like hell. You know BDD?”

“I don’t think so.”

He whams back in his chair, links his hands behind his spectacular snowy-beach hairdo. “Body dysmorphic disorder. Affects about one percent of the population, about five percent of plastic-surgery patients. In Beverly Hills, ten percent, easy. Maybe twenty. Gum?”

“No, thanks.”

He unwraps three sticks, pops them all in his mouth. He chews like a ballplayer, cheek puffed out as if working on a chaw. “This is a condition where a person looks in the mirror and sees something that doesn’t exist. Or sees a distortion of the truth. You look in a mirror, you see a tiny bump on your nose. Mosquito bite, say. A person with BDD sees that same mosquito bite, and to her, it’s the size of a big fleshy peach. I’m serious.”

He chews violently for three more seconds, tears off a page from a prescription pad, spits the wad of gum into it. “Plastic-surgery patients with BDD see themselves as ugly and deformed. Doesn’t matter how great the surgery turns out or how many times you perform a surgery to correct the first one, which they see as botched. In real life, they may look like Heather, but they look in the mirror and think they look like crap. And they blame you.”

“Crazy,” I say.

“A nightmare,” Romeo says. “You can’t always catch it, but you try. We get sued more than anyone. My lawyer loves me. Sends me on a cruise twice a year. Anyway, back to dating.”

He taps out three more sticks of gum, unwraps them, jams them into his mouth. I’ve known Romeo Bouley, MD, for under a day, but based on his naked-lady lamp collection, the fact that he lives in the middle of Antiques Roadshow, the way he compares plastic-surgery consultations to dating, and how he chews a pack of gum every five minutes, I’m calling this guy quirky.

“So, okay, the consultation goes well, you agree to see each other again. Now we’re talking Botox, collagen, that kind of thing. First base. That goes well, you move to second base. Lipo. Then you swing for the fences.”

“Breast augmentation.”

“Bingo. Start with a good-night kiss. Botox. Next you make out. Lipo. Then you do the deed. Boob job.” He rips off another page from the prescription pad, wads up his gum. “I feel you, kid. You got a future.”

Days two through twenty-nine.

A guy could get used to this.

Five, six, seven, a dozen gorgeous women a day. Professional women who act, pose, escort, strip, and screw for a living, all talented enough to appear on the cover of Maxim or in the pages of Playboy. The startling part is that if I’d ever met one of them in college, I’d have stammered, blanched, and launched into a monologue about my mother’s cooking. Now, wearing a white coat in Dr. Romeo Bouley’s office—even though I always identify myself as a medical student—I’m treated like another doctor. These women share with me their fear of surgery, explain why it’s a curse having a beautiful face and gorgeous breasts, even confess their most intimate problems with husbands, boyfriends, parents. I listen sympathetically, and when they ask for my assurance—they always do—I promise I’ll be right there with them throughout their procedure. Many grip my hand with heartfelt thanks. At times I feel like Romeo Junior.

“I tell you more than I tell anyone,” a porn star, a favorite of Tim’s, coos to me as Romeo begins her post-rhinoplasty follow-up visit. She has asked him to make her look more elegant, less trashy. She hopes to transition into mainstream acting at some point, which, from what I’ve seen, would be a blow to the porn industry.

“Everything looks good,” Romeo says. “Healing nicely.”

“I have a photo shoot tomorrow. Is that okay?”

“It’s fine. You don’t have to miss work.”

“Can I hang from the ceiling by my wrists and ankles?”

“Just make sure they don’t touch your nose.”

“Can they put a cue ball in my mouth?”

I cough, mutter, “Warm in here.”

More to come.

To read Part I of ” Beverly Hills Bloodsuckers,” click here.

To read more of my plastic surgeon tell-all IN STITCHES, click the link below!

Several sources (including TMZ) are reporting that Kardashian mom Kris Jenner is being sued by a cosmetics company for having a facelift.  After having her lower face and neck lifted by a Beverly Hills plastic surgeon, B&P sued Jenner for breach of contract in promoting their product “Beautiful Eyes in a Bag.”  By having plastic surgery, B&P claims that Jenner has harmed the reputation of their company and product.

This makes no sense.  A facelift does nothing to the eyes, so their claims appear pretty bogus.  In fact, B&P should be thanking Jenner, since she looks better now than before!

You can catch video of Jenner’s facelift with Dr. Garth Fisher on a recent (or upcoming?) episode of Keeping Up With The Kardashians.  I admit that I’ve only seen an episode or two of the show.

Photo credit: TMZ.com

Silicone breast implants are back under the FDA’s microscope.  Silicone implants were under original widespread use in the 1980′s and early 1990′s.  Fears of silicone implants causing various diseases like lupus and arthritis prompted the FDA to ban the use of them in 1992.  After analyzing studies by the two major breast implant manufacturers (Mentor and Allergan), the FDA lifted the moratorium on silicone breast implants in 2006, ruling them safe and effective, on the condition that 10 year post-approval studies were performed.

An FDA Panel recently met with patients, plastic surgeons, and representatives of Allergan and Mentor to discuss the results from the post-approval studies.  CNN.com has an excellent article about their findings, summarized below:

To read the rest of the CNN.com article, click here.

I recently had the privilege of being interviewed by Michel Martin on NPR’s Tell Me More. We discussed a multitude of topics related to IN STITCHES, including growing up Asian American, plastic surgery, the hidden motivations behind becoming a physician, and the Doctor-God complex.

Thank you to NPR’s Tell Me More and Michel Martin for having me on your fine show!

This story is all over the news.  In what should have been a simple procedure, a phony plastic surgeon left Dinora Rodriguez with a Uniboob, as seen here.  You can read more about it (and watch the accompanying video) on MSNBC.com here.

Do your homework!  Always make sure your plastic surgeon is certified by the American Board of Plastic Surgery and a member of the American Society of Plastic Surgeons (ASPS).

The following are excerpts from a fantastic editorial in USA Today last week:

Though there are always people in any profession who’ll put greed above ethics and do work they might be ill-prepared to handle, few can do as much harm as doctors. The hardest thing to understand is why neither the states nor the medical profession has taken stronger steps to control this dangerous practice.

The roots of the problem lie in the way the profession is set up, combined with the advent of private surgical centers and medical advertising. Once doctors are licensed by states as physicians, there’s little to stop them from doing operations outside their specialty and beyond their training. In Florida, for example, “you can do anything in your office that you can get a patient to consent to,” says Miami plastic surgeon Adam Rubinstein. For the patient, “it’s sort of like going to a Chinese restaurant to get Italian food.” At least a restaurant choice isn’t likely to kill or disfigure you.

Established medical specialty boards do certify doctors, such as plastic surgeons and other specialists, and for many years hospitals served as the gatekeepers to prevent physicians from jumping outside their specialties. The vast majority of hospitals won’t give them privileges to operate. But today, with greater ability to perform operations in private offices and surgical centers, more medical doctors and dentists are bypassing the gatekeepers and doing unfamiliar procedures. Some are even training others to wield the plastic surgeon’s scalpel, sometimes in seminars that last mere days.

Unsuspecting patients are unaware of the danger. And with increasing numbers of people seeking to look younger and thinner, unscrupulous doctors have plenty of consumers to prey on.

To read the entire editorial, click here.

I’m very pleased to announce that I will be featured on ABC’s Good Morning America Monday morning between 8-8:30am!  If you watch you’ll meet one of my newest patients and see some great results.  For more information, check out the Good Morning America website HERE.

Thank you to everyone at GMA for having me on the program!

In an ‘exclusive interview’ on Radar Online, I revealed my pick for which cast of Real Housewives has the most plastic surgery.  I think the choice was easy.  Click HERE to read which cast has the most plastic surgery, and which cast members have the least and most amount of work!

Do you agree with this?  Let me know what you think!

There’s Something About Cameron’s face that just isn’t right.  Not only does she appear to have had a recent breast augmentation (click HERE for photo), but now her face looks tight and stretched, possibly due to recent plastic surgery.  I suspect that she’s had some Botox in her forehead, Juvederm in her cheeks, and some skin tightening treatments, like lasers or chemical peels.

Cameron is such a beauty.  She’d look best if she left things alone, although a touch of Botox in the frown lines and crow’s feet isn’t a big deal…

For more of my thoughts, visit Radar Online HERE.

As a Gen Xer who grew up in the 80′s, there were a few supermodels who were my favorites.  My second favorite (after Cindy Crawford) was Elle MacPherson.  Has the Australian beauty known as “The Body” had some recent plastic surgery to her face?  Check out the photo to the right and you’ll see that she looks tighter and smoother than before.

I don’t think she’s had any actual surgery, but Botox, fillers, and facial resurfacing (laser or chemical peel) treatments are definitely possible.  My comments can be found at Radar Online HERE.

Barbra Streisand’s face has undergone some changes.  While her trademark schnozz is the same, it appears she may have visited a plastic surgeon in the recent past.  I suspect that she’s had some Botox injections to smooth her forehead and some filler injections like Restylane to plump her cheeks.  I don’t see any signs of invasive surgeries, like a facelift, however.

I don’t blame her for possibly having work done.  Don’t we all wish we looked The Way We Were?

For more of my thoughts about Barbra in RadarOnline, click HERE.

My latest article on CNN.com:

Recently, a young woman named Martha decided to undergo a breast augmentation.  She researched
doctors and found one whom she felt was well-qualified.  Ads in magazines touted him as board-certified and a top plastic surgeon in the area.  Martha met him in consultation and underwent the procedure in his office several weeks later.   At home that night she discovered a shocking sight.

Her breast implants were lodged in her armpits.

The next morning she rushed back to her doctor’s office.  He inspected her chest and, with a quizzical look on his face declared, “I have never seen this before.”

Martha decided to seek another opinion.  Several days later she consulted with a different surgeon. He examined her and explained that the previous physician had botched the procedure.  She would need extensive surgery to correct it.  As if this wasn’t bad enough, he also informed her that her doctor wasn’t what he claimed to be.

Sure, he was board-certified.  But not in plastic surgery.

Her “plastic surgeon” was actually an eye doctor.

Stories like Martha’s are becoming more and more common across the United States.  Plastic surgery has become the Wild West of
medicine, with an increasing number of doctors performing invasive cosmetic procedures without proper training or credentials.

In my Metro Detroit practice alone, I’ve been horrified by dozens of plastic surgery nightmares and botched jobs.  One of my patients, a beautiful 25 year old woman, was left with massive dents and shark bite-sized divots all over her
thighs and stomach after undergoing laser liposuction by a family medicine doctor.  A local ENT (Ear Nose Throat)
physician took $12,000 from a young hairdresser for two unnecessary operations: insertion of watermelon-sized breast implants and liposuction to her abdomen.  The implants were eventually removed, and the liposuction left her tummy a rippled, lumpy mess.

Why does this happen?

For the rest of the article, click HERE.

This is a recent segment I did for Fox News on why celebrities look so good so quickly after giving birth. Is it due to plastic surgery?

Can you believe Goldie Hawn is 67 years old?  She looks amazing.  Goldie gave an interview on this week’s Prevention magazine about some of her beauty secrets.  From the magazine:

“I do try to do some form of exercise 4 days a week. At home in California, I’ll bike up the mountain. Or I’ll do Pilates or Spin. And I do eat a lot of greens. I eat healthy, but I’m not a vegetarian.”

In addition to living a clean life and meditation, I also suspect that Goldie’s had a good amount of plastic surgery, too.  She does look really good for her age, although at times it looks like she may have gone a little Overboard.

I’ve liked actress Hayden Panettiere ever since she debuted as the indestructible cheerleader on “Heroes.”  The star of “Nashville” has been photographed wearing a bikini with a suspiciously larger chest.  Some photos even appear to show wrinkling that is consistent with saline breast implants.  You can see a photo of it, along with my comments on Radar Online.com HERE.

So what can Hayden do to reduce her possible implant wrinkling?  Implant wrinkling is typically improved by switching to a silicone implant, injecting fat into the breast tissue, or placing a sheet of Alloderm (acellular dermal matrix – radiated cadaver skin) over the implant.  Or she could gain weight, which would thicken the fat on her breasts.

Wrinkles or not, Hayden looks great.

Photo credit: prphotos.com