Source: Letters to the Editor
By: Sasha Gabor
Your Wits, Don’t Leave Home Without Them…
My birthday present on June 6Th to me was a trip to my country of birth, Hungary to treat my face to a laser resurfacing, sometimes called dermabrasion or sanding down the skin. Everybody was against it telling me I look too good for my age, but I wanted not to look my age but to look a younger age, at least 10 years younger.
My first and so far last face lift was done in Thailand in 1990 (after an unforgettably horrible trip there with John T. Bone and his psycho photographer, luckily I have repressed his name into the depth of my SUBconscious).
However, the procedure was done exquisitely at the Samitivej Hospital in Bangkok and although I looked like the main lead in “The Night of the Living Dead” for 3-4 days, after 7 nights there I was fine enough to be able to go back to Hotel Nana and have 2-3 of my favorite young ladies come over and contribute with some highly explicit sexual “hands on” healing.
Dr. Dirok Premasthian took off ten years of my face and I continued looking like Burt [Reynolds] and went on with the movies.
It was only this cold, rainy, dreary climate of Norway that after 6 years finally took a toll on my good looks and I didn’t like the results, no matter how many friends and girls told me I was still very attractive. My mirror enlarged all impurities five times and what was not visible to others was most certainly very discouraging for my ego. I have long ago realized that I am not immortal but until the man with the scythe comes to fetch me, I do want to look my best. Big pores, liver spots, a few wrinkles here and there didn’t fit my picture of a great looking, virile, still sexually VERY active man.
Between many clinics to chose from, it was recommended that I contact the Seffer clinic as they had decent prices and very good surgeons. I phoned them first and then wrote them several mails, sending them the worst photos my girlfriend could take of my face, expecting the doctor to recommend another face lift.
Much to my amazement, after having taken a look at my ugly face, he recommended laser resurfacing, which was also considerably cheaper. I booked the airline ticket well in advance to get the most favorable round trip price, about 135 dollars – a pittance – notified my dear Aunt Edit that I’d be spending one night with her and with my niece and nephew in the picturesque town of Pecs and the following day, May 30Th I went to visit the surgeon, Dr. Ferenczy, a jovial and warm gentleman with whom I felt instantly safe and on the same wavelength with.
We did some blood check, an EKG and I was off to my luxury hotel for a night of no sleep… No eating, no drinking was the command from the anesthesiologist… But I couldn’t fall asleep on an empty stomach so I put away a decent supper and drank half a bottle of cognac just to calm my nerves but still I didn’t sleep.
The surgery was a cinch, I slept as soon as the needle was put into my veins and woke up an hour later with a very sore face that felt like I had been badly sunburned. I stayed that night in the clinic really only to get strong pain medication like Demerol and sleeping pills like Xanax.
The following day my Aunt Edit came to guide me to the bus station as I had a bit hard time seeing through puffy eyes and covered up my face like a harem girl. That definitely ensured that all the More people were looking at me and wondering why I tried to be incognito?
Then came two weeks of staying in my hotel room in the beautiful town of Pecs and only go out to purchase food and something to drink. My face was nothing but scar tissue that had to fall off by itself without my plucking nor picking at it when it was itching as if a thousand ants had been crawling over it.
I still have the uncanny ability to heal very fast and on the appointed day, Friday, June 15Th, I took the bus to the railroad station in Pecs to catch the train back up to Budapest as my airplane was leaving the following day, Saturday back to Oslo, Norway. A dear friend, Laci was going to pick me up upon arrival in Budapest and then on Saturday drive me to the Ferihegy airport.
I had only hand luggage and even that got to be heavy to carry, so I put it beside my feet and looked at the people in the station. I had to admit that there were a lot of very pretty girls in Hungary. Suddenly I noticed from the corner of my eye that the small carry on bag was moving backwards, away from my feet. I turned to find a woman who was pulling it gently away but when I shouted at her in Hungarian, she grabbed it and started walking, actually running with it.
“Follow that car!” I thought and did, except she got help from another gypsy looking, strong guy! This happened so fast that I still wonder how I did it: By holding on to my bag, they forced it out of my hands and I fell forward and hit the pavement with my face, nose, forehead, mouth first. I didn’t have time to put my hands in front of me to break the fall. Blood was running into my eyes and the gypsy couple had vanished by the time I had managed to get on my feet.
I had to take a taxi back to my aunt’s apartment as I was a mess: no luggage, not a penny to my name and my two cell phones were in the hand-luggage besides my digital camera, my valet with my Visa and Master Cards. The ONLY possession I still had around my neck, in a pouch that my mother demanded that I wear over my objections that I did not want to look like a minor traveling alone, was my Hungarian passport.
Then two detectives appeared at my Aunt Edit’s apartment and took down whatever little info I could give them. I signed but didn’t get a copy of the report but asked them to send it to my aunt as soon as they could. The following day my aunt accompanied me not only to the train station but took the 4 hour long train ride with me to Budapest. After all, I had no money and no way of reaching that airplane that I had the return ticket for. She had to purchase another one and that I couldn’t have done without her help. It was frightfully expensive at the last minute, (over 400 dollars) but I was happy that at least I didn’t have to spend another sleepless night sitting at the airport without a shower and a change of my pretty dirty looking clothes.
I waited and called my aunt every single day from Oslo but there was no police report in the mail so I did get the cops’ telephone number and called myself. The insurance company here in Norway had to have a police report. Without it there was NO way to reimburse me for anything. After all, it could have been a story that I had dreamed up because I missed my flight.
Luckily, the detective with whom I finally got in touch with: Thomas was very attentive to my plight and after many days of conversations he said that unfortunately the two detectives didn’t file a report since I was leaving the country anyway but, if I gave my aunt an authorization, she could file it in my name. And that is where we are standing right at this moment on Sunday the 8Th of July.
It did help tremendously that Detective Thomas was a big Clint Eastwood fan and I called him Dirty Tommy. It also did help a lot that he too has boy-girl twins like I. He even mailed me a photo of himself writing that this way I know who I am talking with. Now he is only waiting for more photos of My twins and the authorization for my aunt.
If Murphy’s Law doesn’t come into effect one more time, in a few months I might just get some of my money back from the travel insurance that I had. So stay tuned for the continued adventures of Sasha no longer Burt Reynolds but Sean Connery look alike!
