Leaving the hospital and catching a taxi, I immediately hit my head on the low ceiling and am returned to the hospital for a quick medical examination, where a doctor tells me my follicles are down to 4,598. I return to the five-star Pera Palace Hotel feeling oddly excited, given the amount of adrenaline and other chemicals that have just been pumped through a cannula. Looking through the bandages in the mirror, I see not an exhausted, bloodshot-headed patient, but taxi driver Robert De Niro, eager but unable to leave the room under strict orders to protect his aching head.
I sleep surprisingly well when I take half a Valium tablet and sleep at a 45-degree angle using a pillow or travel neck cushion, which also helps absorb blood from the donor site. I’ll have to sleep like this for the next 12 days, as I won’t be able to lie down until the site heals.
I was instructed to return to the hospital the next day to have the bandages removed and the area gently cleaned, easing my fears that more hair follicles might fall out. Another day in Istanbul would have spared me the humiliation of flying home looking like a mummified bandaged “Turkish hairline,” but you don’t have to be Miss Marple to see the purpose of my trip.
Istanbul has become synonymous with hair transplants for good reason: my procedure cost about £3,600, including travel and five-star accommodation, a third cheaper than in the UK and a quarter cheaper than in the US.
