My face COLLAPSED after botched Turkey teeth op – it's like broken glass smashed in my head & pain worse than childbirth
A MUM says her face collapsed and she was left in the 'worst pain of her life' after a botched dental procedure in Turkey went horribly wrong.
Leanne Abeyance, 40, from Telford,
11
Leanne Abeyance with daughters Gracie, 14, and Emelie, 11
Credit: Jam Press
11
DJ Leanne had all her teeth pulled, the implants inserted and returned to the UK
Credit: Jam Press
11
Leanne Abeyance jetted there to replace her 13-year-old veneers with implants
Credit: Jam Press
11
She initially chose to go abroad because the same work in the UK would have cost £40,000 — whereas the Turkish clinic quoted £8,000
Credit: Jam Press
11
Leanne said she began suffering with severe headaches, sinus infections, and noticed her face was starting to change shape
Credit: Jam Press
The mum-of-two said she was advised by a Turkish dentist to undergo a sinus lift, bone grafts and have 15 implants fitted — eight on the top and seven on the bottom.
DJ Leanne had all her teeth pulled, the implants inserted and returned to the UK, with a plan to go back months later for permanent crowns.
But just weeks after the screws were fitted, Leanne said she began suffering with severe headaches, sinus infections, and noticed her face was starting to change shape.
'I'm in the worst pain of my life and I'm in and out of A&E,' said Leanne.
'I can't even touch my face. It feels like broken glass being smashed in my face and smeared around. I've been in a flood of tears."
'My face has collapsed. I'll never have a nice smile.
"At the minute, I don't have any teeth in, just screws sticking out. The pain is worse than childbirth.'
Most read in The Sun
She initially chose to go abroad because the same work in the UK would have cost £40,000 — whereas the Turkish clinic quoted £8,000.
Leanne paid £3,000 upfront and was due to pay the rest after the final fitting.
'When the first lot of injections went in and they started to remove my teeth, I could feel everything,' she said.
'I had about 25 injections in six hours.
"The sinus lift felt like they were hammering something up my nose.
'It was like a horror movie that I was fully awake for.
"I got picked up and taken back to a nice hotel where fellow customers were there having the same done.
"I was on the phone to my friends and family crying my eyes out because I was in so much pain and there on my own.
You can't eat because your mouth is so swollen and there are screws sticking out so I was starving.'
UK Mum's Dental Nightmare: Turkey Teeth Leave Her in Debt and Pain
Leanne left the surgery in May last year happy with her temporary smile, but the pain began before she even got on the flight home.
'In the airport, my face started to hurt so much I was literally buying cups of ice and putting them on my face,' she said.
'My face was black and blue like I'd been in a huge fight.
"In the UK, I thought it was all worth it because it was the start of a perfect smile and feeling pretty.
Four months later, I'm starting to get bad headaches, toothache where there are no teeth, and
Despite multiple courses of antibiotics and even an overnight hospital stay on an IV drip, the pain wouldn't go away.
A scan at Droitwich Dental Studio in March revealed that two implants had pierced her nasal cavity.
'One implant pierced through my sinuses and the other is in my nose,' she said.
11
A scan at Droitwich Dental Studio in March revealed that two implants had pierced her nasal cavity
Credit: Jam Press
11
You can't eat because your mouth is so swollen and there are screws sticking out so I was starving
Credit: Jam Press
11
Her dentist says she may need to have all of the implants removed and redone
Credit: Jam Press
Leanne is now fundraising for private corrective surgery, which she's been told could cost up to £45,000.
Her dentist says she may need to have all of the implants removed and redone.
'The pain I'm in is excruciating,' she said. 'It's not as easy as walk in, walk out to the perfect smile like celebrities say.
'There's no such thing as the perfect white smile. I'm not asking for sympathy or anything for free.
Now it's a waiting game.
My dentist in Droitwich has been great and I'll be using them again in the future.
'I'm ready to have them all cut out and have horrible dentures, but hopefully it will stop the pain I'm in. I can't work, my face swells up, I get bad headaches, nose bleeds, mood swings and my mental health through the roof.
'I've lost two stone in weight and I feel like I'm failing as a mother to my two beautiful daughters.
'I don't want to be seen in public.
Read more on the Irish Sun
"My mental health is severely suffering, I can't DJ, I can't be my happy, lively self and can't even do a caravan holiday with the kids.
"It's been the worst year of my life. I just want it to be over.'
What are the risks of getting surgery abroad?
IT'S important to do your research if you're thinking about having cosmetic surgery abroad.
It can cost less than in the UK, but you need to weigh up potential savings against the potential risks.
Safety standards in different countries may not be as high.
No surgery is risk-free. Complications can happen after surgery in the UK or abroad.
If you have complications after an operation in the UK, the surgeon is responsible for providing follow-up treatment.
Overseas clinics may not provide follow-up treatment, or they may not provide it to the same standard as in the UK.
Also, they may not have a healthcare professional in the UK you can visit if you have any problems.
Source: NHS
11
Her dentist in Droitwich has been great and I'll be using them again in the future
Credit: Jam Press
11
Leanne paid £3,000 upfront and was due to pay the rest after the final fitting
Credit: Jam Press
11
Leanne is now fundraising for private corrective surgery, which she's been told could cost up to £45,000
Credit: Jam Press
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
Irish Times
an hour ago
- Irish Times
Writers remember Edmund White: The chronicler, artist and patron saint of queer literature
Edmund White, the American writer, playwright and essayist who attracted acclaim for his semi-autobiographical novels such as A Boy's Own Story – and literally wrote the book on gay sex, with the pioneering The Joy of Gay Sex – has died aged 85. Over his career, White wrote more than 30 books and was a major influence on modern gay literature. Here, Colm Tóibín, Alan Hollinghurst, Adam Mars-Jones and more recall the high style and libidinous freedom of a writer who 'was not a gateway to gay literature but a main destination'. 'He loved gossip and intrigue' – Colm Tóibín, novelist Edmund White wrote with style; he cared about style; he made it seem natural and effortless. He wrote and indeed spoke with a kind of delightful candour. He loved revelation and gossip and intrigue. The idea that everyone he knew had secrets fascinated him. He chuckled a lot. He read all the latest French novels. He saw no reason why he should keep things to himself and, because he was gay in a time when gay life had not appeared much in fiction, that became one of his great subjects. A Boy's Own Story, which came out in 1982, had enormous influence. It was an essential book for several generations of gay men. In The Beautiful Room Is Empty and The Farewell Symphony, White charted the changes and the tragedies of the gay life that had seemed so promising in A Boy's Own Story. READ MORE In writing about gay characters, White also became one of the chroniclers of city life, especially New York and Paris . (During a brief stay in Princeton, he suggested that the only relief from tedium was to howl nightly at the moon.) White was in full possession of a prose style that was deceptive in how it functioned. His writing could feel like conversation or someone thinking clearly and honestly or taking you slowly into his confidence. The cadences were close to the rhythms of speaking, but there was also a mannered tone buried in the phrasing, which moved the diction to a level above the casual and the conversational. The book of his that I love most is his 2000 novel The Married Man, which is a kind of retelling of Henry James's The Ambassadors. White dramatises with considerable subtlety the conflict between the idea that the personal is political ('which,' White wrote in 2002, 'may be America's most salient contribution to the armamentarium of progressive politics') and the legacy of Vichy France filled with secrecy and ambiguity and the ability to live several compartmentalised lives. In the recent years, White's apartment in Chelsea, shared with his husband, the writer Michael Carroll, was a centre of fun and laughter, a place where you got all the latest news. Books were piled up. They, too, were treated as kind of news. He worked every day, writing at the diningroom table. He made light of his illness. He was, in many essential ways, a lesson to us all. 'He showed me gay fiction could also be high art' – Alan Hollinghurst, novelist Edmund White in 1986. Photograph: Louis Monier/Gamma-Rapho/Getty Images Edmund White's luminous career was in part a matter of often dark history: he lived through it all. He was a gay teenager in an age of repression, self-hatred and anxious longing for a 'cure'; he was a young man in the heyday of gay liberation, and the libidinous free-for-all of 1970s New York; he was a witness to the terrifying destruction of the gay world in the Aids epidemic in the 1980s and 1990s. All these things he wrote about, in a long-term commitment to autofiction – a narrative adventure he embarked on with no knowledge of where or when the story would end. He is often called a chronicler of these extraordinary epochs, but he was something much more than that, an artist with an utterly distinctive sensibility, humorous, elegant, avidly international. You read him not just for the unsparing account of sexual life but for the thrill of his richly cultured mind and his astonishingly observant eye. What amazed me about A Boy's Own Story, when it came out in 1982, was that a stark new candour about sexual experience should be conveyed with such gorgeous luxuriance of style, such richness of metaphor and allusion. This new genre, gay fiction, could also be high art, and almost at once a worldwide bestseller. It was an amazing moment, which would be liberating for generations of queer writers who followed. These younger writers Edmund himself followed and fostered with unusual generosity – I feel my whole career as a novelist has been sustained by his example and encouragement. In novels and peerless memoirs right up to the last year of his life he kept telling the truth about what he had done and thought and felt – he was a matchless explorer of the painful comedy of ageing and failing physically while the libido stayed insatiably strong. It's hard to take in that this magnificent experiment has now come to a close. 'He brought a lightness into my life' – Yiyun Li, author Edmund White in 1988. Photograph: Peter Kevin Solness/Fairfax Media via Getty Images About 10 days ago, when I left the east coast for a book launch in London, Edmund and I were in the middle of reading Elizabeth Bowen's first novel, The Hotel. 'Don't you worry, darling, we'll finish when you get back,' he said. Edmund and I were close friends for the past eight years. At the beginning of the pandemic, we met at 5pm on Skype, Monday through Friday, which became our two-person book club. This continued after the pandemic. The first book we read was The Complete Stories by Elizabeth Bowen. Between that collection and The Hotel, my estimation is that we read between 80 and 120 books. Sometimes we marvelled with fake shivering ( Muriel Spark's The Driver's Seat, for instance). Sometimes we compared our underlined parts in the books, and when we found we underlined the same adjective, the same phrase, or the same paragraph, we pretended, once again, to be surprised. When we read Henry Green's novels, Edmund would act the dialogues out in a British accent. There was a detail from a Yasunari Kawabata novel that we returned to often as a private joke: 'Are you low on B?' (As in Vitamin B.) 'Yes, I feel low on B.' This would be the closest that we would admit that we were feeling saddened by the losses in our lives. Edmund lost many beloveds to Aids; I lost two children to suicide. And yet there was never a heaviness in our conversations. I think Edmund brought a lightness and a cloudlessness into my life. We gossiped, we giggled, and sometimes I would stare at my little screen, dumbfounded, when Edmund enlightened me with a graphic reminisce of gay sex from 20 or 30 years ago, in a castle or back alley in Europe. Then we would stare at each other before bursting into laughter. When we first read Bowen together, sometimes Edmund or I would say, 'I wish I could write like this.' And the other person would repeat, 'I wish I could write like this.' In a few days, I shall return to the US where Edmund Valentine White III is no more, and I shall finish The Hotel by myself. Neither he nor I will make our friendship into fiction. I wish I knew a pair of characters like us in literature. 'I gave his novel a bad review – which positively inflamed his charm' Adam Mars-Jones, novelist Author Edmund White at his home in New York in 2019. Photograph: Mary Altaffer/AP I met Ed White in London in 1983, at the time of the UK publication of A Boy's Own Story. I had reviewed the novel for Gay News, and he knew that my verdict was unfavourable but not what my objection was (I described it as a cake that had been iced but not baked). This didn't deter him from making a conquest of some sort – a degree of resistance could positively inflame his charm. We took a stroll round Covent Garden. I bought him a punnet of whitecurrants, a fruit with which he was unfamiliar, though feigning ignorance to please me would have been perfectly in character. He must have registered my lack of carnal interest but went on sexualising our promenade, asking me if one bystander was my type, telling me that another had given me the eye. To have become his friend without even a moment of sexual closeness was, a least at that time in the New York gay world, an anomaly and perhaps even a distinction. I visited Ed several times in Paris, sleeping on the daybed in his enviable flat on the Île Saint-Louis. In the morning he would help his ex-lover John Purcell get ready for a day of graduate study, a routine – as he was well aware – with overtones of a mother packing her son off to school. We would have one more cup of coffee and listen to some chamber music, Poulenc a favourite. Then he would say, 'I must get back to the darling novel' (he was working on Caracole at the time), and lie on his bed to write in longhand. I loved those visits, and some of that was down to Paris, but most to his hospitality. For a night in he might buy rabbit loin in mustard sauce pre-prepared from a traîteur, unthinkable sophistication. It was from him I learned that 'cutting the nose off the brie' was not just bad mannersBrie I hadn't known, but a named crime. He was writing a monthly column for American Vogue, socialising was a job requirement as well as a pleasure. Even so, I was mildly scandalised that his French literary friends took it for granted that he would pick up the tab in restaurants. Priggishly I would treat him to a meal now and then, though I think he took more pleasure in largesse than in the presumption of equality. 'He expanded the bounds of what could be written about' – Olivia Laing, writer Edmund White in his New York home in 2016. Photograph: Ethan Hill/New York Times I saw Edmund White on the A train once, like glimpsing an emperor in the grocery shop. I must have been barely in my teens when I first read A Boy's Own Story, the Picador paperback with the brooding boy in a purple vest on the cover. I was seduced by everything: the lovely, supple, almost shimmering language, the explicit precision applied to sex and class. Cornholing, a word I'd never heard before. Above all, it held out an invitation. It was from White that I realised a writer takes the rough material life gives – unwanted, shabby, maybe repellent – and makes it their own by way of sensibility and style, that alchemical translation. Years later, I met him. He was at an adjoining table when my first American editor took me out for lunch. He was celebrating too, toasting the publication of Justin Spring's Secret Historian, a book about the unconventional sexual researcher Samuel Steward. It was pure White territory: sex explored exactly and without shame. His presence that day felt like a blessing. He interwove the elegant and the explicit, he expanded the bounds of what could be written about and also how a life could be lived. There is a generation of writers you write for without quite realising it. They set the bar, and then they go. That beautiful room is emptier now. 'His work was as fresh as gay bar gossip' – Mendez, novelist Edmund White was one of those writers whose work was as fresh and immediate as gay bar gossip, but from a place of deeper learning and knowledge. I met him once in 2019, over dinner with Alan Hollinghurst in New York, and he remained every bit as witty and sex-positive as I'd found him in his books. The incredible thing about him is that he was one of very few gay writers to remember the pre-Aids era and survive into old age. When I think of White I think of the bathhouses of 1970s New York City and his conspiratorial storytelling, though that's not to undersell him as a prose stylist. Such was his keenness to connect with a gay-literate rather than a mainstream, almost anthropologically minded audience, that The Joy of Gay Sex, which he co-wrote, retains a contraband feel to this day. 'He showed us what was really going on' – Tom Crewe, novelist Edmund White in New York City, 2000. Photograph: David Corio/MichaelEdmund White was not a gateway to gay literature, or to the gay experience, since that would imply that he was not in himself a main destination. However, he was very often the man who opened the door to the expectant reader, who took them by the elbow, led them inside and eagerly showed them everything that was going on – that was really going on. There are his novels and his memoirs, of course, with their brave, bracing, dirty and dignifying candour, and his biographies, of Genet, Proust, Rimbaud, not to mention The Joy of Gay Sex, co-authored with Charles Silverstein. But I am thinking especially of States of Desire: Travels in Gay America (1980), which records his visits to the diverse gay communities across the country, before they were united by the internet and representation in mainstream culture. It is of its time – often magnificently so, as in its description of the 'San Francisco look': A strongly marked mouth and swimming, soulful eyes (the effect of the moustache); a V-shaped torso by metonymy from the open V of the half-unbuttoned shirt above the sweaty chest; rounded buttocks squeezed in jeans, swelling out from the cinched-in waist, further emphasised by the charged erotic insignia of coloured handkerchiefs and keys; a crotch instantly accessible through the buttons (button one already undone) and enlarged by being pressed, along with the scrotum, to one side; legs moulded in perfect, powerful detail; the feet simplified, brutalised and magnified by the boots. For gay men there are three erotic zones – mouth, penis and anus – and all three are vividly dramatised by this costume. But it is also of its time in its repeated, inevitable attention to the brute facts of homophobia and how it crowds, limits and costs lives. The book, accidentally, became a vital record of gay life on the brink of Aids: the epidemic's outsize impact in the US (which White went on to describe and protest) was a direct consequence of this indulged prejudice. But States of Desire doesn't memorialise a lost Eden – 'Gay life,' White said, 'will never please an ideologue; it's too untidy, too linked to the unpredictable vagaries of anarchic desire.' At one point in his travels, in Portland, he discovered 'an unusual degree of integration with the straight community' worthy of remark: 'A gay single or couple must deal with the family next door and the widow across the street; the proximity promotes a mixed gay-straight social life – parties, dinners, bridge games, a shared cup of coffee.' It's a reminder of how amazingly far we've travelled. Edmund White was one of the people that brought us here – but he didn't think integration and toleration, the right to marriage and a family, was an end-pend pointwas just one sight on the tour, and White showed us, with a proper absence of shame or embarrassment, many others rather more thrilling. Gay life shouldn't ever mean one thing in particular; but what it can provide, as he wrote in States of Desire, 'is some give in the social machine'. 'His books were a fabulous reel of anecdote and savage humour' – Seán Hewitt, writer Edmund White was true giant of letters, the patron saint of queer literature. I can still remember, vividly, reading (in the wrong order), the books of the trilogy from A Boy's Own Story to The Farewell Symphony, completely absorbed in White's camp, biting humour, his name-dropping, his ability to capture self-delusion, fantasy, disappointment, anger, lust and romance in a heady, whirling voice. I remember saying to a friend, then, that I thought I could read him forever. White's books were a fabulous, unending reel of anecdote and savage humour, attuned to the erotic impulse of writing, full of mincing queens, effeminate boys and brutal men: a fully stocked world of idolatry and abnegation. What stays with me, years later, is not only the biting social observation, but also the religious tenor of his mind, the affinities of his characters with the world of the sacred, of mystics and martyrs, which processed shame with such exuberance of feeling. I felt, in the company of his voice, educated in a secret, glamorous world, which was operatic in its emotion and brilliantly arch in its range of reference. In his final book, The Loves of My Life, White proved himself an iconoclast to the end. Even the epigraph made me chuckle, because I could almost hear him chuckling to himself while setting it down: 'Mae West hearing a bad actress auditioning for West's hit comedy Sex: 'She's flushin' my play down the terlet!''. His honesty, even in his last years, was still enough to make you wince, still sharp enough to bring a shock of laughter, still melancholy and occasionally self-pitying enough to catch you off guard with all the many sadnesses of the world. I'm grateful that he left us so much work, and that the full, unadulterated sound of his voice is so potent, so convivial, so fresh and living on every page. – Guardian
The Irish Sun
3 hours ago
- The Irish Sun
Rita Ora shows off toned figure in hotpants and sparkly bikini top in very sexy beach snaps
RITA Ora has shown off off her sensational figure in a pair of skimpy hotpants while teasing new music. The 34-year-old hitmaker could be seen rocking some seriously short shorts with a sparkly swim costume as she posed in a series of very sexy beach snaps. 5 Rita looked amazing as she posed up a storm in the racy look Credit: Instagram/ritaora 5 Fans went wild over her ensemble Credit: Instagram/ritaora 5 She is releasing a new single and music video this week Credit: Instagram/ritaora Posing up a storm on the beach, Rita looked amazing as she showed off her sensational figure. In the first snap she could be seen standing with the ocean behind her as she looking into the distance. Wearing ultra short blue hotpants, an ornate pink bejewelled bikini and a white shirt over the top, Rita exuded glamour. She accessorised with some white sunglasses and a pink glossy lip. Read More about Rita Ora Another snap was a close up of Rita's chest and the diamante-adorned bikini she was wearing. Posing on a sun lounger in another glam snap, Rita was seen sunning herself as she held a rather large desk fan in her hand and relaxed. In the caption, Rita penned: "HEAT MUSIC VIDEO OUT FRIDAY. Join the YouTube premiere at 5PM BST. It's gonna get hoootttt." Fans instantly rushed to the comments section to react to the musical announcement, with others also quick to swoon over the sexy snaps. Most read in Showbiz One person said: "Can't wait to listen to it." "MUSIC VIDEO OF THE CENTURY INCOMING," added another. Rita Ora looks incredible in slinky backless dress for The Masked Singer's Rat Pack night A third then gushed: "Jawdroppingly hot you always are @ritaora." "You look absolutely stunning and beautiful," said a fourth. "Rita!! Literally stunning," penned a fifth. A sixth then wrote: "Mega super sexy." While a seventh said: "Those tan lines are gonna be crazy," in reference to her ornately cutout swimming costume. Rita, who has been working hard on her fourth studio album, spoke about the body of work last summer. Speaking backstage at Mighty Hoopla Festival in 2024, Rita told The Sun: "The album is going really well. 'I'm taking it just one song at a time to be honest. 'I'm not sure it will be ready for this year though. But the great thing about my label {BMG] is that I have the time and they are really chill like that.' 5 Rita often shares glam snaps online 5 The hitmaker always exudes glamour and opulence Credit: instagram/ritaora
The Irish Sun
3 hours ago
- The Irish Sun
‘I'm really weak' – Chris Kamara gives health update as Sky Sports legend reveals new role
CHRIS KAMARA admitted 'I'm really weak' after giving a health update while securing a new role. The Sky Sports legend, 67, was forced to step back from broadcasting two years after being diagnosed with apraxia of speech (AOS). Advertisement 1 Chris Kamara admits 'I'm really weak' after landing a new role Credit: Getty The condition sees sufferers struggle to speak as the brain is unable to properly control the muscles used to form words. Kamara exclusively told The Sun last month that he had travelled to Mexico for treatment. He also suffers from dyspraxia, which affects his balance and coordination. And now, the fan favourite has managed to land himself a new role. Advertisement READ MORE IN FOOTBALL For one day only, The surprise gig was carefully considered before being accepted by Kamara because of his AOS and dyspraxia. And he admits his health battle has left him feeling 'really weak' overall. Kamara told Advertisement Most read in Football "That's what's happened with the work because even though I've got the acceptance of my condition, I still don't want to put myself in a situation where it comes back to bite me. 'So I'm not like the old Chris Kamara who would say yes to the opening of an envelope. Fans have 'tears in eyes' as Sky Sports icon Chris Kamara reunited with old pal Jeff Stelling on shock commentary return What is apraxia of speech? Apraxia of speech is a condition which makes talking difficult, with sufferers knowing what they'd like to say, but having trouble communicating their words. The NHS says that the condition can be extremely frustrating for people. They explained: "Frequently the person with apraxia will have difficulties with conversational speech. However they may be good at 'automatic' speech tasks such as counting, swearing, repeating rhymes, greetings and farewell. It's usually caused by damage to the left side of the brain, such as a stroke. The condition does not affect a person's understanding and the symptoms of the condition can vary occurring to the severity of the disorder. The main symptoms are: being able to say a word correctly one minute and then not the next difficulty at the beginning of words greater difficulty with longer words aware of mistakes but unable to correct them speaking slowly being better at 'automatic tasks' such as counting and singing. "Whereas now I'm a bit more choosy and will I put myself in a situation where it won't work out alongside my apraxia, I have dyspraxia, which affects your balance. 'So I'm weak, really weak, and you know, going down these stairs isn't great. Advertisement "Going up these stairs is fine, but going down these stairs, the brain tells you you're going to fall even though you probably won't, so you have to hold on to the banister and getting on planes and things like that.' On his dyspraxia, Kamara added: 'Walking is fine but the thing is if I trip I can't put my arms out anymore to stop my fall, so if I was riding a bike, when you stop, the brain won't allow your feet to go down and stop you falling. 'You just fall over the sides, it's crazy, but the brain is so complex, it's amazing. 'I didn't realise the compartments of the brain, where if you talk in an accent. So (for me) I advise speaking in a Scottish accent. Advertisement "The flow is quicker than my normal speeds, which is crazy, but that's the brain for it.'
