Cooper gets Plastic Surgery

Last weekend I had an unfortunate altercation with the sidewalk, resulting in lots of blood and a fairly nasty cut directly above my right eye. Lacking any medical common sense, I decided simply to clean the cut out and throw a band aid over it. Flash forward to Monday morning, and every teacher in my school is asking me why I have a large band aid above my eye. Now granted, most of the teachers do not even speak enough English to understand my explanation, but they ask anyway...mostly by pointing at the cut. One of the teachers takes it upon herself to go get the school nurse to take a look. So I take the band aid off while 5 or 6 teachers look on in wild anticipation. The nurse takes a look and tells me that I need to get stitches right away. Everyone seems very concerned at the possibility of a scar, as if it is a crucial health concern. "Oh, that's ok" I say. "I don't mind if I have a scar. It's like a free souvenir." That only made things more confusing, as most of them didn't know the meaning of the word souvenir, and I obviously had no clue as to the Korean equivalent.

So one of my co-teachers tells me that she knows a Plastic Surgeon who can stitch me up for the reduced price of $100. This doesn't sound too appealing to me, since I could get stitches at a nearby hospital for free. I express this concern to her and she informs me that a Plastic Surgeon uses "special delicate" stitches that reduce the possibility of a scar. Again, I say that I don't really care about a scar. I'm more concerned with saving $100. However, nobody seems to understand how I could possibly not care about having a scar. "But...it's your face!!" they keep telling. So finally I cave, and decide to let me co-teacher take me to her doctor friend after school. Honestly, shelling out $100 seemed easier than trying to explain that I wouldn't mind a scar.

I'm standing on the subway platform with Ms. Choi when I hear someone yell "COOPER" from across the tracks. I turn around to see another teacher from my school yelling my name and waving her arms. "Cooper," she says, "My brother is a Plastic Surgeon and I call him to see if he help you. He can give surgery at 6:00 if you will come with me now." I look to Ms. Choi with a face that says, "Can you please figure this out?" Luckily she can read my face, so she and the other teacher (Ms. Hwang) start speaking in Korean to each other. From what I could gather, they were both going back and forth as to who should bring me to get the surgery. Ms Hwang seemed to be the more aggressive of the two and eventually won the battle. So I thanked Ms Choi and headed over to the other side of the tracks.

Ms. Hwang and I take the subway to her apartment, so that we can grab her car. However, there is a van parked perpendicular to her car. So it appears to me that we won't be able to get out. It turns out I'm wrong, and Ms Hwang tells me to get on one side, while she stands on the other, and we begin to push the van forward in order to get her car out. Apparently, this sort of parking style is common in Korea. Once we finally got the van out of the way, we hopped in her car and headed to the doctor.

On the way to the office, Ms Hwang informs me that her brother is one of Korea's most renowned Plastic Surgeons, which is a big deal when you consider that Korea has the highest rate of plastic surgery in the world. Apparently this guy has cut open celebrities and politicians both nationally and world-wide. When we arrive at his office in Apgujeong (the Beverly Hills of Seoul) and walk into his waiting room, I felt like I just stepped into the Korean version of Nip/Tuck. Im surrounded by attractive young Korean women sitting on black leather chairs and chatting on cell phones, while the Doctor's gorgeous receptionist immediately begins offering me all sorts of beverages. The whole thing was quite surreal and I couldn't help but smile to myself.

So we sit in the waiting room for a while, and I finally realize that I have no idea what the hell is going on. I'm praying that I will get some sort of anesthetic during the procedure, and that I won't be shelling out $300 to Dr. Swank. After a few minutes a nurse comes downstairs, brings me to the operating room, and has me lie down on the table. After dabbling all sorts of liquid onto my wound, she places a sheet over my head, completely covering my entire face except for the right side of my forehead. Then the Doctor comes in, reassures me in broken English that, after receiving a few painful shots, I won't feel a thing for hours. We talk about Nip/Tuck, Philadelphia, and college. He even laughs at me when I tell him I majored in English Literature. 45 minutes and 27 stitches later, the doctor is leading me out the door with a script and a handshake. He tells me that there is no charge for the surgery because he can tell that I am "a good guy, who's not in Korea to make money, but to experience all of the country's beauty." I thank him roughly 14 times before he shoves me out the door, but not before I get to say goodbye to his lovely receptionist.

On the drive back to my apartment, I remember staring out the window watching the night fall over Gangnam, the sun already set, but the sky still pink - my favorite time of day. There was an overwhelming sense of calm and rhythm to the streets around me, a feeling I had thought was impossible to get in Seoul. Ms. Hwang started laughing, turned to me and said, "Cooper, you know, not many people get plastic surgery for free. You have unlikely experience today."

"That's very true," I said. Though, I couldn't help but feel a little disappointed that I was missing out on a good scar.