Rajee Narinesingh gained widespread attention after being dubbed “Cement Face,” following a black market plastic surgery disaster in the mid-2000s. The surgery, performed by the infamous “toxic tush doctor” Oneal Ron Morris, involved injecting Narinesingh with a harmful mixture of cement, superglue, and tire sealant. This caused severe deformities in her face and body. Fortunately, Narinesingh later appeared on the TV show Botched, where professional surgeons helped repair the damage.
Here’s a closer look at Rajee’s life, her journey to recovery, and what she looks like today.
Rajee Narinesingh’s Early Life
Born in New York on April 7, 1967, Narinesingh knew from a young age that she was different from other boys. Raised in Philadelphia, she felt more like a woman inside and struggled with her identity. As she grew older, she decided to undergo several plastic surgeries, but the high costs led her to seek cheaper, unregulated options.
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The Black Market Surgery
In 2005, Narinesingh met Oneal Ron Morris, who falsely claimed to be a plastic surgeon. Desperate to align her physical appearance with her gender identity, Narinesingh agreed to receive injections from Morris. The substances used, including cement and superglue, left her face and other body parts severely deformed.
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Narinesingh paid just $100 per session and received around ten injections between 2007 and 2010. Initially excited, she soon faced the nightmare of hardened lumps forming under her skin, leaving her horrified and housebound.
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Recovery and Transformation
Too embarrassed to seek help from the police, Narinesingh felt like a “monster.” But in 2012, she found hope with Dr. John Martin of Coral Gables Cosmetic Reconstructive Surgery, who treated her with softening injections and laser therapy. Her transformation from victim to victorious continued when she appeared on Botched in 2016. Over seven weeks, she underwent four surgeries to remove the toxic fillers, regaining her confidence and self-esteem. She even began dating again, humorously recalling a man calling her a “sexy dragon.”
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Life Today
Narinesingh has since become a prominent public figure, advocating for transgender rights and educating others about the dangers of black market procedures. She’s appeared on over 30 television shows globally and has written three books about her experiences. Now living in Florida, she works with the LGBTQ community and spreads awareness about HIV prevention.
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Narinesingh has embraced her journey, calling the hardships she endured a “blessing” because they allowed her to amplify her advocacy work. She’s active on Instagram, sharing her life and inspiring others.
Oneal Ron Morris’ Fate
Morris was sentenced to 10 years in prison in 2017 after one of her patients died. In 2021, Morris reached out to Narinesingh, seeking forgiveness. Despite the past, Narinesingh accepted Morris’ apology, reflecting her belief in learning from mistakes and growing stronger from adversity.
A Brave Survivor
Rajee Narinesingh’s story is one of incredible resilience and transformation. From the devastating effects of illegal surgery to reclaiming her life, she continues to inspire others with her activism and courage.
Share this inspiring story to spread awareness and celebrate Rajee’s strength.
I SPENT MY PROM DRESS MONEY TO HELP A HOMELESS MAN — THE NEXT DAY, HE SHOWED UP AT PROM WITH A LUXURY GIFT
The worn vinyl of the bus seat creaked beneath me as I clutched the envelope, its crisp edges softened by the warmth of my hand. Inside, the money my mom and grandma had painstakingly saved—my prom dress fund. The pink, shimmering gown that would transform me, even for one night, into the princess I’d always dreamed of being.
The bus rattled along, the familiar rhythm a comforting backdrop to my anticipation. At the next stop, the doors hissed open, and two figures boarded, their presence immediately shifting the atmosphere. They weren’t passengers; they were enforcers, their uniforms a stark contrast to the everyday clothes of the other riders.
Their attention fell upon an elderly man, his clothes tattered and his face etched with worry. He sat hunched in a corner seat, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. The enforcers approached him, their voices sharp and demanding.
“Ticket, sir,” one of them barked.
The man’s hands trembled as he fumbled in his pockets, his eyes wide with a desperate plea. “Please, I… I don’t have one. I’m trying to get to my daughter. She’s sick, and I have to take her to the hospital. Please, I’m begging you.”
The enforcers were unmoved. “Fine,” one of them stated, his voice flat. “You’ll have to pay a fine.”
The man’s shoulders slumped. The despair in his eyes was a physical weight, a crushing burden that filled the bus. I couldn’t bear it. The thought of my own mother, sick and helpless, flashed through my mind. What if she needed help, and no one cared?
Without a second thought, I stood up, my heart pounding in my chest. I took a deep breath, the crisp air filling my lungs with a sudden rush of determination. “I’ll pay his fine!” I declared, extending the envelope towards the enforcers.
The bus fell silent. The enforcers exchanged surprised glances, then looked at me, then at the man. I didn’t waver. I knew, deep down, that this was the right thing to do. Some things were more important than a dress, even a dream dress.
The enforcers, after a moment of hesitation, accepted the money. The elderly man’s eyes filled with tears, and he rushed towards me, his voice choked with gratitude. “Thank you, thank you, child. You’ve saved my daughter’s life.”
He thanked me over and over, his voice a trembling whisper, before hurrying off the bus, his urgency palpable. I watched him go, a strange mix of relief and a tiny pang of sadness swirling within me.
The next day, prom was a whirlwind of glitter and laughter. I wore a simple dress borrowed from a friend, feeling a little out of place but strangely content. I’d told my mom and grandma what happened, and they’d hugged me, their eyes filled with pride.
As the music swelled, and couples swayed on the dance floor, a commotion erupted near the entrance. I turned to see what was happening, and my breath caught in my throat.
Standing there, amidst the sea of shimmering gowns and tailored suits, was the elderly man from the bus, his face beaming. Beside him stood a young woman, her face pale but her eyes bright. And in his hands, he held a large, velvet-wrapped box.
He walked towards me, his steps slow but steady. “My dear child,” he said, his voice ringing with warmth. “I wanted to thank you properly. You saved my daughter, and I can never repay you. But I hope this small token will express my gratitude.”
He presented the box to me. I opened it, my fingers trembling. Inside, nestled on a bed of satin, was a dress. Not just any dress, but a masterpiece. It was pink, shimmering, and exquisitely crafted. It was the dress of my dreams, even more beautiful than I had imagined.
“My daughter,” the man explained, his eyes filled with tears, “she’s a seamstress. She made this for you, with all her heart.”
I was speechless, tears welling up in my eyes. The dress was perfect, a symbol of the kindness I had shown and the kindness I had received in return. That night, I didn’t just feel like a princess. I felt like a hero, and I knew that some things, some moments, were worth more than all the dresses in the world.
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