Claire Johnson: I nearly died from sepsis after a Brazilian butt lift in my pursuit for perfection

Ten months ago I nearly died.

Not from an illness or a terrible accident, but because I was desperate to improve what I thought was a bodily ‘flaw’.

Wanting a bigger, more lifted bottom, I had a type of non-surgical beauty treatment known as a Brazilian Butt Lift, or BBL.

I didn’t realise the BBL – which involves injecting dermal filler into the bottom – is notoriously dangerous.

I still well up, thinking how close I came to leaving my children – Amelia, 11, and Jack, nine – without a mother in my pursuit of perfection.

In September, British mother-of-five Alice Webb died after a BBL.

Her story stunned me: that could have been me. You are probably asking why I – a 38-year-old mother with a loving partner – would pay for this risky “enhancement”.

The truth is I’d spent many years unhappy with my looks.

At about 12, I noticed a bump on my nose that I wished I could smooth out. Perhaps it was just the usual teenage angst, but my dissatisfaction continued into adulthood, even after I met my partner Steven, now 44, a carpenter.

We live in Hertfordshire and, in 2013, I set up an academy teaching make-up and beauty skills.

After having children in my late twenties, I struggled with my post-natal body, developing what I believe was a form of body dysmorphia.

I hated my boobs, feeling they had lost volume, and believed surgery was the only solution. So, six years ago, I booked in for surgery and had my boobs enlarged from a 28D to a 28F.

It cost me £2,900 (AUD$5684) and I was very happy with the results. It meant I wanted more.

Two years later, I had a nose job, plus liposuction on my legs, back and waist – a “two-for-the-priceof- one” deal for £5,000 (AUD$9800).

Then I had another breast op, going from a 28F to a 28G.

Each time I healed well and, frankly, loved the results. So, when I heard about treatments to lift your bottom, I started researching.

I’d always felt my bottom lacked volume and shape.

There are several types of BBL. I knew I didn’t want to do a “fat transfer”, as that would mean putting on weight, in order to create fat to be injected into my bottom.

Neither did I want implants, as I’d heard too many horror stories about them rupturing.

The most cost-effective treatment seemed to be liquid filler – the kind they use in the face – injected into each buttock.

The clinics I read up about claimed this was safer, too. I thought I was being careful by not going abroad, where it’s often cheaper but more things can go wrong.

However, looking back, I realise I didn’t do basic safety checks, such as researching the qualifications and experience of the practitioner.

I chose a cosmetic clinic I’d been to before for lip, jaw and cheek fillers.

This clinic’s social media is always plastered with discounts (something that maybe should have rang alarm bells).

In January this year, I noticed an offer for BBL and contacted them via Instagram, saying I wanted “volume and projection”.

The minute she finished, I could see something wasn’t right. My bottom looked as if too much filler had been inserted and the skin was puckering.

A week later, I drove three hours to London for a consultation.

There, an advanced aesthetic practitioner – not a doctor – told me I would need 400ml of filler.

Any less, they said, and it would not be noticeable. It would cost over £4,000 (AUD$7840).

I’ve since found out that this is an excessive amount of filler and not safe at all.

One of the biggest blood vessels in the body is in this area, so the more fat or filler injected, the more risk it can get into this vessel and cause an embolism (a blockage) and even death.

Infection rates are also much higher with this treatment than other fillers – but I wasn’t told any of this.

They were the experts and I trusted them. I was admittedly surprised when told they could do the procedure the same day, but I decided to go for it – a rash decision I now bitterly regret.

They said the procedure was “pain-free”, but the practitioner gave me injectable lidocaine – a form of local anaesthetic – that made me feel woozy.

Twice she stopped the procedure to give me glucose tablets to stop the wooziness and administer more painkillers.

The minute she finished, I could see something wasn’t right. My bottom looked as if too much filler had been inserted and the skin was puckering.

I was told it was “normal” but I was not to drive for more than an hour. The clinic knew I’d come in from Hertfordshire and I started to panic. How was I going to get home?

I decided to risk it and take regular breaks on the drive. I can’t describe the pain on that journey – far worse than after my two C-sections.

By the time I got home, my bottom was throbbing with agony. I contacted the clinic, asking if I could take ibuprofen and even have a glass of wine, to take the edge off.

I’ve since discovered you shouldn’t take ibuprofen, aspirin or any anti-inflammatory drug after the procedure as it can cause more bruising.

Obviously wine isn’t a good idea, either.

One of the small incisions where they had inserted the filler was infected and weeping.

They said yes to both.

That night, I barely slept. Next day, I was in so much pain I had to come home early from work and lie on my front.

I had a temperature and the wounds were red and angry.

When I contacted the clinic, the receptionist said this was “normal”.

For four days, I endured agonising pain. On the Sunday morning I removed the dressings and realised something was very wrong.

One of the small incisions where they had inserted the filler was infected and weeping.

I took a picture and sent it to the clinic but was once again told this was “normal”.

I didn’t believe them and said I needed antibiotics. Only then did the practitioner herself get in touch, promising she’d get antibiotics to me within two days.

My partner Steven was really worried by this point and insisted I should go to hospital.

Still unsure whether I should try to ride out the pain, I decided to contact Kate Ross – a lead aesthetic nurse (and owner of The Clinic by La Ross) who I knew of via my work in the beauty industry.

She runs post-surgery clinics for people who’ve had trouble with cosmetic treatments.

Straight away she said I needed to get to A&E.

It was a decision that probably saved my life. Steven took me to our local A&E, but staff told us to drive on to the Lister Hospital, outside Stevenage in Hertfordshire.

Medic s at the Lister immediately suspected sepsis, and suddenly I was terrified that I was about to die.

I felt a knot in my stomach at the thought of my children – how would they cope without me? Doctors took blood samples to check for infection and inserted a cannula to administer antibiotics.

I was told that safe markers for infection should be between five and ten – mine were 500.

I was prepared for emergency surgery. Steven went home to collect some toiletries and clothes for me.

When he returned, they wouldn’t let him stay – I was scared and lonely. By then I could barely walk and was taken to the ward in a wheelchair, still in agonising pain.

The plastic surgeon said the wound looked ‘necrotic’ – meaning my flesh was literally dying.

The next day, under general anaesthetic, I had surgery to cut away the dying tissue, during which I’m told my infection markers went up to 600.

When I woke, I was groggy and in a lot of pain.

I had stoma bags attached to the wounds that were filling up fast with infected fluid. It was horrible.

The surgeon kept saying I must be “nil by mouth” in case I needed another operation.

My children stayed with my mum while Steven was working.

I couldn’t face them – I didn’t want them to know how sick I was. Steven was upset, too.

He was aware I’d had the BBL, but neither of us thought it was a big deal.

He couldn’t believe it had caused so much pain and danger to my health. I was able to leave hospital after a week, but nine days later – during a check-up – they discovered the superbug MRSA in my blood, so I was admitted again.

After that, I was allowed home but kept on an IV drip for two weeks and antibiotics for three.

For those three weeks I still had stoma bags attached, collecting the fat and filler oozing from my bottom. I also lost weight – dropping from 7st 11lb to 7st 2lb (I’m only 5ft 2in).

Today, I’ve healed – but I’ll always bear the emotional and physical scars. I feel terrible guilt over what happened.

When I think about it, I feel sick. I could have died and I would no longer be someone’s mum, partner or daughter.

I’ve still got lumps and bumps – a big scar on my right bum cheek which I’ve covered with a tattoo, and some scarring on my left.

But at least I’m alive.

I did try to involve a solicitor at one point – I feel the clinic failed in its duty of care – but because I can’t prove where the infection came from, I was told I don’t have a case.

Despite the well-documented risks of BBL, it’s still legal.

I messaged the clinic demanding a refund, and they sent me threatening letters saying I must not slander them.

However, they have refunded me the full amount for the treatment and I do think that’s some admission of guilt.

As for me, I’ll never have anything done to my body again. I still struggle, feeling bad about the way I look, but, rather than have more surgery, I’m having therapy to try to deal with that.

I want to set a good example to my daughter about respecting your body.

To other women who are tempted to try a BBL, I’d say: “Don’t do it”.

If I can prevent even one woman from putting herself through what I experienced – and possibly leaving a grieving family behind – then it’s worth telling my story.