My Hair Looks Incredibly Rich.

If I am being honest, there was not really anything wrong with my hair per se. That was the problem, though. My hair was textbook fine and thin. You could have easily picked out a hundred other black women in their late thirties with the same hair. Nothing remarkable, if you know what I mean. So, for my fortieth, I decided that I wanted to get an hair transplant to get the hair of my dreams. But I was not going to shave anything off because I did not want anyone to notice that I had gotten work done. I work in the kind of office where your business becomes lunchroom talk. I compared many clinics and settled on Heva because they had worked with afro hair on women, so they were not going to be running experiments with me. If you are wondering what I mean, go read about failed afro hair transplants. I swear they are worse than watching Friday the 13th on Halloween. I arrived in Istanbul in March right as winter was easing up. I had no idea Turkey actually gets that cold, but we live and learn. My experience was comfortable, though, since I was in a heated hotel room and the clinic itself had a heater on the whole time. I got the transplant done, was taken back to my hotel, and left the country two days later to continue the healing process back in California. With gentle washes and hydration sprays, I watched over my grafts like they were eggs. They hatched eventually, and at the half-year mark, guess who has more hair volume than they ever thought was possible? People think that my peri-menopause is working backward because my hair looks incredibly rich.