Let's face it. We all age. Some of us do it gracefully. Some of us...not so much. So now, as I face my mortality...I find myself becoming completely obsessed with the notion that I am going to become that "aging Porn Star" in someone's eyes. God forbid some 25 year old who spent his teen years jerking off to my videos should see me and have a mortified expression on his face. I'm just not the type of guy who could just shrug that off. To this day, the thought of having that experience and seeing myself through a fan's eyes, as an aging man makes me shudder.   

This obsession of the mind. This preoccupation with staying young and beautiful forever begins with such subtle qualities. Then, suddenly it is set rolling forward into dysmorphic proportions.

For me, it began with a little botox. That was easy and kind of fun. I even filmed it and shared it laughingly with the public. (You can Youtube "Nick Capra botox") Then, I decided I should follow it with a little juviderm for the laugh lines. "Everyone does that..", I told myself. Then the more advanced fillers followed. Yes, I was poked and prodded. Yes, I looked like a chipmunk for several days after the procedure. Yes, I was bruised up and looked a little bit like a monster for a week or so. But, it was all worth it to me. I was retaining my beauty! So, you think that after injecting and filling my face to this extent would have been enough?! Well, not so with me. I have come to realize that I am simply not like other people. Once I experience a procedure that produces a sense of ease and comfort within me...I am not satisfied. I do not say to myself, "This is great. Now I am content." I WANT MORE!!

I started focusing on my body. I began obsessing over areas of my body that I wanted to improve, but just couldn't seem to by proper diet and aggressive training at the gym. The one area of my body that I could never get the desired result from, no matter how much training I did-my calves. It's not a matter of how much or little I work my calves, or which exercises I did or failed to do. It's simple physiology, really. My father had little calves. My grandfather as well. I tried to defy this genealogical nightmare by hiring a trainer-several different trainers, actually. My quads, my ass, and my hamstrings all got bigger. My calves got a tiny, little puff. And that was all that was coming to me!

It made me feel insecure. To the point where I refused to where shorts in public.(Mind you I live in Southern California-the land of shorts and flip flops) It really sucked during the Summer when I was out and all the other guys were in shorts and I was stuck in jeans. Hiding my little, skrawny legs.

May 18th, I woke up early, scrubbed myself down with the surgical cleanser I was given, then drove to Dr Shmootz' office for my new calves. I was excited and nervous. But, I really knew this was going to be the answer to all of my problems. 

As I lay on the operating table, right before the anesthesiologist was about to administer the drugs into my arm, I began to wonder if this was the right decision. I started thinking about what had happened to Kanye West's mother during a routine liposuction procedure. But, at that point it didn't matter. I was gonna go through with this. I really didn't feel like there was much of a choice. I just prayed that all would turn out well. Things started getting hazy as the drip entered my blood stream. Then, everything went dark... 

I awoke. I felt pain. Agonizing pain in my left leg. Nausea. I vomited everywhere. Everything was very blurry. The nurse cleaned me off and told me that the surgery had gone well. I was having a hard time making out what she was saying because I was so consumed with the searing pain in my left leg. My mother was there. After what must have been a few hours, I was put in a wheelchair and taken to my mother's car. The anesthesia was wearing off and the pain in my left leg was escalating. The nurse told me that my post-op appointment with Dr Shmootz would be the following afternoon at 2pm. I was trying to be cool but tears were sliding down my face. I was literally in agony. My mother asked the nurse if this kind of pain was normal after surgery. The nurse reassured her with a puppet-like, "Yes. Of course."

6hrs later...I was in my mother's house. My left leg was noticeably more swollen then the right leg and I was still in agony. All the percoset in the world wasn't managing this type of pain. My boyfriend was by my side..He had brought me flowers and was trying to comfort me. It wasn't helping. I was consumed with pain as well as a mounting fear. Intuitively I knew something wasn't right in my left leg. I called Dr. Shmootz at around 9pm and told him about the pain and the swelling in my left leg. He told me to come in to his office first thing in the morning instead of waiting until my 2pm post-op appointment. I barely slept that night. The pain was constantly waking me. I had to use the bathroom. Getting out of bed, using the walker to get to the toilet, and even lowering myself down to the seat and back up again was hell. Early the next morning, the pain was not getting any more manageable, nor was the swelling in my left leg going down. At this point I could barely use the walker I was given to get to my mother's car. I touched my calves gingerly. The implants felt like rocks. Not at all like I had imagined. Yes, they were bigger, but they just felt awful to the touch. Part of my leg was screaming in pain and the other part was completely numb. (Another factor Dr Shmootz left out was that cutting through all the nerves to get the implants inside of me would cause severe nerve damage, leaving the area numb for 6-12 months) 

We arrived at Dr Shmootz' office and he unwrapped my legs. I saw fear in his eyes. My mother was pacing the exam room like a lioness about to attack something that is about to hurt her cub. Dr Shmootz immediately called in his partner at the practice. His partner examined my legs and pulled Dr Shmootz aside and they spoke in hushed voices. They tilted me into a diagonal position, head towards the floor, to get the blood to flow away from my legs. I was put on a large dose of prednisone, an oral steroid that is used as a powerful anti-inflammatory.  Hours passed. Dr Shmootz kept checking in. My mother was still pacing. She pulled him aside and demanded to know what the hell was going on. He explained to her that he was fearful that my left leg was going into compartment syndrome. Basically, acute swelling that cuts off the blood flow to part of the body which results in the death of the tissue surrounding it. Not good.   

I was terrified. My mother was furious with the surgeon. Nurses kept coming in and out of the exam room. I lay there, tilted in this diagonal position, like some sort of prisoner that was being tortured by the enemy for information. There was complete chaos going on around me and I was powerless to do anything about it. Every hour that passed felt like a week. Infinity stretched limitlessly. I was acutely aware of every single nerve that was screaming in pain inside of me. 

This routine surgery that was supposed to enhance my beauty and make me feel secure with my body had turned into a true plastic surgery nightmare.