Arrival IV
By the fourth day in Volgograd I had started to become comfortable, touring the city, making friends with other patients and taking part in drinking festivities. It felt like I was on vacation, still not completely taking in what I was really there to do. Unbeknown to me, the other patients were making bets as to when I would freak out and book a plane ticket out of there. Apparently, two other patients before me had come, sniffed out the scene, realized what they were in for and scattered out the day after. I almost became the third one to follow, but before that I was simply taking my time and feeling everything out. I wasn’t scared, I knew what I had come to do – but did I completely think everything through?
I sat out in the lounge area and helped myself to a cup of tea. Looking around I couldn’t help but notice that on the table sat about 16 empty mugs of various sizes. There were four rooms housing two people each but whom did the other 8 mugs belong to? Suddenly, laughter enters the room followed by the distinct sound of crutches – a sound that soon becomes too familiar. Three females ranging from twenty one to fifty five walk in, give a cheerful “preevyet” Russian hello, and sit around the table. They each grab a mug, pour themselves tea and continue their conversations. Soon after two young guys, both with frames on just like the girls walk in and do the same.
I remember reading lots about this in other people’s journals, the many beautiful girls and the unique social environment in the clinic. The limb lengthening patients share the facilities and accommodations with patients that are undergoing corrective surgeries. From what I had seen, all these patients were Russians and Ukrainians. Interestingly, their procedure also uses the same frames as the limb lengthening patients, so it gave us all a lot to talk about.
After finishing my tea I return to my room and find my roommate sitting up on his bed. We begin talking and it becomes clear that he’s become overly conscious of the appearance of his new legs. He explains that he may have made a mistake lengthening ten centimetres, compromising fair proportions for height. He spoke up and down about his fears of going home and having peers and strangers notice his legs and possibly confront him. It was interesting, an interesting conversation to have because it further proved to me that fears of proportions can at times be unreasonable.
He looked completely fine to me. Sure, his legs looked long and his tibia’s were taller than average but to anyone who didn’t know the truth – he really did look like any other person. Of course he saw things differently and that’s because he knows his own body. He knew what he had looked like all his life and now that he has removed the frames and revealed his new tibias’s he has become freaked out by the difference. In his attempt to convince me that his new legs are too long he showed me a picture of what he looked like before the surgery. Now here’s the part where I begin to panic.
Woah. That’s how much he grew?? I couldn’t believe how different he looked at 5’7. That’s when it really hit me that this surgery is no joke and that ten centimetres is not a small number. Here I am talking to a guy that is 180 centimetres, someone who’s presence you clearly feel in the room and whom especially among the other patients you know is tall. Yet, I’m looking at a picture of the same guy, but much shorter and completely without the presence he currently holds. For one reason or another, it freaked me out. Obviously I knew I would be taller, but seeing the difference in person was a reality check. If I went through with this and lengthened to ten centimetres like I had planned for, everyone would know that I got taller. There would be no hiding it and making up stories the way I had figured I would. This surgery really was going to make me a completely different person and was I really ready for that? We all want to be taller but jumping to four inches is a pretty big change.
Who said you have to do ten? Tonya asked as I sat in Oksana the administrator’s office. “If you do seven, it might not be as noticeable especially if you were already wearing lifts before.” I know.. I respond, but I didn’t come here to do seven. Seven isn’t enough, I don’t want to do this surgery and still be thinking about height after. I want to do as much as I can and be satisfied with that. “Yes, but you will be much happier than you are now with seven centimetres.” But I’ll be even happier with ten, won’t I? but am I really ready for that big of a difference? What am I really worried about here – whether I’m ready to be four inches taller or what everyone else will think if I’m four inches taller?
Who are you here for… yourself or your friends? James asks as he rests against the wall, now in the hallway of the clinic. Myself I guess... but obviously I care what others think, otherwise I wouldn’t be here. James being much older seemed like the right person to go to for advice and he quite clearly didn’t place the same emphasis as I did on friends. He didn’t see a reason to care about the opinions of others. Without hesitation he told me quite eloquently: fk what everyone else will think, fk what everyone else will say – this isn’t about them – this is about you and how you feel about yourself. No stranger will ever guess. Friends you see every now and then won’t assume something so drastic and your close friends, well tell them. They’re your real friends, aren’t they?
This made me feel much better. It was true, I’m doing this for myself. I have an image of who I am and who I want to be and it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. When I get home everyone will have to adjust, including myself but it will just be a hump I have to get over and in a year or two no one will remember what my height used to be. Besides, I control how much height I gain. If I want to stop, I’ll stop.
I thought about it for two more days. Going back and forth constantly in my head. This was tough. You know, you have this on your mind for so long, your lurk the forums everyday, you think about how much money you need for it, you think about the pain, you think about what you need to do to prepare, what you’re going to say to everyone and then you dream about the results but when you finally get to the point where you’re actually doing it.. signing the papers, paying the money… booking the surgery date. It all just hits you. Am I actually doing this? I’m not going to walk normally for months.. a year. My whole life is going to change. What if something goes wrong? Is this really worth it?
If you haven’t booked a plane ticket home by this point, well then you’re in for the ride. All those thoughts slowly fade away and so begins the I have to do it. I came here for this. I want this. If I don’t do this, I will regret it forever. I’m strong. Everyone here is happy. Just do it.
Sign here.
Initial here.
Okay, Tuesday is your operation date. No drinking and no eating 12 hours before. Bring all your necessary valuables and be there for 10.