It looks like medieval torture, from the metal rods inserted into sawn bones to the months of agonising recovery. But to some, travelling to Turkey to gain a few inches is a (very high) price worth paying
I
t was on his honeymoon in Kuala Lumpur, looking out of his hotel window at the silvery points of the world’s tallest twin skyscrapers, that Frank decided it was time to become taller. He had recently confessed to his new wife how much his height had bothered him since he was a teenager. As a man dedicated to self-improvement, Frank wanted to take action. He picked up the phone, called a clinic in Turkey that specialises in leg lengthening surgery – and made a booking.
“I had a lot of second thoughts – at the end of the day, someone’s going to break your legs,” he says, propped up on a hotel bed in Istanbul, his legs splayed in front of him, bracketed by a brace on each thigh. His wife, Emilia, tends to him, fetching painkillers and ice packs for the wound sites where the braces puncture his legs. For the first two weeks after surgery, Frank needed her help to get on and off the toilet, but now, six weeks later, it’s largely only to get off the bed.
The bleep of an alarm interrupts our conversation: time to insert a key into the metal bracket on the side of Frank’s thigh and turn it, forcing apart the rods that have been inserted into his femurs. New bone grows into the gap in his thigh bones, one agonising millimetre at time. Each turn of the key dictates how much the patient can grow, and Frank is aiming for five turns each day rather than the four recommended by his doctors, to gain a precious extra quarter of a centimetre. It means more suffering, but Frank is all about putting in the work to get what he wants. “Time to grow!” Emilia says, with a little laugh, as the alarm sounds.






