A medical surgeon gained international recognition by sharing magnetic resonance imaging (MRI) footage that showed how a patient’s injected hyaluronic acid fillers developed and moved on their own over time. Thousands of viewers were shocked by the results and acknowledged that their implanted fillers had never dissolved.
Dermal fillers are defined by the American Board of Cosmetic Surgery as gel-like substances that are injected into the skin to improve facial features, smooth wrinkles and soften creases, and restore lost volume. According to the American Board of Cosmetic Surgery, dermal fillers are substances that resemble gel and are injected into the skin to enhance facial features, soften creases, smooth wrinkles, and replenish lost volume.
According to the board, more than a million men and women select this well-liked face rejuvenation procedure annually. Hyaluronic acid is a common injectable filler kind that is also the most temporary. Usually, hyaluronic acid fillings last six to eighteen months. Oculoplastic surgeon Dr. Kami Parsa gained notoriety after posting an MRI video online. On Friday, July 12, Dr. Kami Parsa, an oculoplastic surgeon from Beverly Hills, California, posted a video of an MRI of a patient on his TikTok profile.
The movie demonstrated how the injections had changed the patient’s face. Over the preceding six years, the patient, a 33-year-old woman, had received more than 12 CC, or 12 milliliters, of hyaluronic acid filler injections. The movie’s MRI, which has received over 7.2 million views, showed a grey face with green dots lighting up in different spots, such as the cheeks and lips, to show where the remaining hyaluronic acid filler was.
The patient’s procedures were not disclosed by Dr. Parsa. He did, however, confirm that the material equaled 28 CC after doing a volumetric assessment to ascertain the woman’s filler amount. In the video, the physician said, “which is more than twice the amount of filler that was injected.” “This proves that hyaluronic acid fillers are hydrophilic,” he went on.
This indicates that they both enjoy being in water and stimulate tissue growth. An individual on TikTok expressed concern over the MRI, saying, “I just don’t see how this wouldn’t completely destroy the lymphatic system.” Someone wrote, “Finally, THIS IS BEING TALKED ABOUT.” “Mass production and impulsive, insane use.” I must find out more.How about botox? “Botox has a long history and is safe if performed correctly,” was the response from Dr. Parsa. The patient’s hyaluronic acid filler dosage has increased, as shown by the MRI.
MY MOTHER-IN-LAW GOT A KITTEN AT 77 — AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO THINKS THIS IS A TERRIBLE IDEA?
The soft mewling sound echoed through the phone, a high-pitched, insistent cry that sent a fresh wave of frustration through me. “Isn’t she just the sweetest thing, darling?” my mother-in-law, Eleanor, cooed, her voice bubbling with an almost childlike delight.
I clenched my jaw, trying to keep my voice even. “She sounds… energetic,” I managed, picturing the tiny ball of fur wreaking havoc on Eleanor’s pristine living room.
Eleanor, at 77, had decided to adopt a kitten. A tiny, ginger terror named Clementine. And I, frankly, thought it was a terrible idea.
It wasn’t that I didn’t like cats. I did. But Eleanor was living alone, her health was… delicate, and the thought of her chasing after a hyperactive kitten filled me with dread.
“She’ll keep me active!” Eleanor had declared when she’d announced her new companion. “And I’ve been so lonely since Arthur passed.”
I’d tried to be diplomatic. “That’s wonderful, Eleanor,” I’d said, “but maybe a fish would be a better choice? Something a little less… demanding?”
She’d waved my suggestion away with a dismissive flick of her wrist. “Nonsense! Clementine is perfect. She’s my little companion.”
“Companion” was one word for it. “Chaos” was another.
Kittens were a whirlwind of claws and teeth, demanding constant attention, requiring frequent vet visits, and possessing an uncanny ability to find trouble. I could already envision Eleanor, her frail frame struggling to keep up with the kitten’s boundless energy, the inevitable accidents, the scratched furniture, the sleepless nights.
And then, there was the inevitable. What would happen when Eleanor’s health deteriorated? What would happen when she could no longer care for Clementine?
I knew the answer. I’d be the one left to pick up the pieces, to find a new home for the kitten, to deal with Eleanor’s heartbreak.
My husband, Michael, was no help. “She’s happy,” he’d said, shrugging. “Let her have her fun.”
“Fun?” I’d retorted. “She’s going to break a hip chasing that thing!”
But I was the only one who seemed to see the impending disaster. My friends, my family, even Eleanor’s bridge club, all thought it was a wonderful idea. “It’s keeping her young!” they’d chirp. “It’s giving her a purpose!”
I felt like I was living in a bizarre alternate reality, where everyone had lost their minds.
Weeks turned into months. Clementine grew into a mischievous young cat, a ginger blur that terrorized Eleanor’s houseplants and shredded her curtains. Eleanor, surprisingly, seemed to be thriving. She’d developed a newfound energy, a spring in her step that I hadn’t seen in years.
She’d joined an online cat forum, sharing photos and videos of Clementine’s antics. She’d even started taking her to a local cat café, where she’d made new friends.
One afternoon, I visited Eleanor, expecting to find chaos. Instead, I found her sitting on the sofa, Clementine curled up in her lap, purring contentedly. Eleanor looked radiant, her eyes sparkling with happiness.
“She’s been so good today,” she said, stroking Clementine’s soft fur. “We’ve been having a lovely afternoon.”
I watched them, a strange mix of emotions swirling within me. I’d been so convinced that this was a terrible idea, a recipe for disaster. But I’d been wrong.
Eleanor wasn’t just keeping Clementine; Clementine was keeping Eleanor. She was giving her a reason to get out of bed in the morning, a source of companionship, a spark of joy in her life.
I realized then that my concern, while well-intentioned, had been misplaced. I’d been so focused on the potential problems that I’d overlooked the simple truth: Eleanor was happy. And that, in the end, was all that mattered.
As I left her house, I smiled. Maybe, just maybe, I’d been the one who needed to learn a lesson. Sometimes, the best things in life are the ones we least expect.
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