She Was Injected With Cement and Superglue — Here’s How Rajee Narinesingh Rebuilt Her Life

She paid one hundred dollars per session. Ten sessions over three years. The substance being injected into her face, her hips, and her body was not a medical filler. It was cement, superglue, and tire sealant — materials that have no place in a human body under any circumstances — administered in a makeshift clinical room by a person with no medical qualifications whatsoever.
Rajee Narinesingh survived it. One person didn’t.
What happened to Rajee is one of the most shocking stories to emerge from the world of black market cosmetic procedures, and her path from that makeshift room to television, global activism, and hard-won self-acceptance is a story that deserves to be told fully and carefully.
Who Is Rajee Narinesingh
Rajee Narinesingh was born in 1967, long before the internet made information about gender identity widely accessible. Growing up, she had no framework for what she was experiencing — no language, no community, no way to understand why she felt so profoundly disconnected from the body she inhabited.
As she got older, she began connecting with other transgender women and found, for the first time, a sense of recognition and belonging. She knew who she was. The question became how to align her appearance with that knowledge.
Legitimate cosmetic procedures were far beyond her financial reach. So when she heard about a practitioner in her community who offered injections at a fraction of the clinical cost, she made the decision that would alter the course of her life.
“The last thing I wanted was to look like a man in a dress,” she told the Daily Mail. “I wanted to be a beautiful woman.”
The Injections
The person Rajee trusted was Oneal Ron Morris, who would later become known in media coverage as the “toxic tush doctor.” Morris operated out of what appeared to be a converted bedroom, set up to resemble a clinical space. At $100 per session, the price was accessible in a way that licensed procedures were not.
“It appeared to be pretty sterile,” Rajee recalled of her first visit. “There was a room that she had set up where she did a lot of medical procedures.”
Initially, Rajee experienced no obvious problems. But the nightmare, as she described it, started soon after.
Large lumps formed beneath the surface of her face — under her cheeks, along her lips, across her chin. The substances Morris had been injecting were not medical fillers. They were cement, superglue, and tire sealant. Materials designed for construction and automotive use, pushed into human tissue through a needle.
The physical consequences were severe and visible. Rajee’s face changed shape in ways she could not control or conceal.
“I felt like a monster, I really did,” she later told Barcroft Media, as quoted by the New York Post. “A sideshow circus clown.”
Shame, Silence, and the Decision to Speak
For years, Rajee did not report what had happened to her. The shame was overwhelming. She struggled to leave her home, let alone approach the authorities about a procedure she had knowingly sought outside the law.
It was a position many victims of black market cosmetic procedures find themselves in — aware that what was done to them was illegal, afraid that coming forward would expose them to judgment rather than compassion.
In 2012, Rajee finally sought help. She began seeing Dr. John Martin at Coral Gables Cosmetic Reconstructive Surgery, who provided softening injections and laser therapy to reduce the hardened lumps that had formed in her face. The treatments were not a complete solution, but they helped. Rajee began going out more. She started dating. Her confidence, slowly and painfully, began to return.
“Now I’m feeling more confident, and with a good bit of makeup, I can achieve somewhat of an exotic look,” she told the Daily Mail during that period.
Justice, and Its Limits
Rajee was not the only person Morris had harmed. Multiple victims came forward, and the legal consequences for Morris were eventually significant. One person died as a result of the injections. Victims filed suit. Morris was sentenced to ten years in prison.
In 2021, Morris sent a letter to Rajee from prison, asking for forgiveness. Rajee chose to respond — not for Morris’s benefit, she made clear, but for her own.
“What I have become more aware of as I have lived my life is that if we can get stronger from the hardships we go through and learn from the mistakes we make, then they become blessings,” Rajee wrote in her response, which she shared on social media. “I feel the sincerity of your spirit, Sis, and I want you to know that I wish the very best for you.”
It was a response that surprised many people who followed her story. For Rajee, it was about closure — not absolution.
Botched and the Road to Recovery
In 2016, Rajee was chosen to appear on the E! network reality series Botched, which follows plastic surgeons working to correct cosmetic procedures gone wrong. She had applied the previous year as well, but the doctors had initially been uncertain whether they could help her safely.
By 2016, they believed they had a workable plan.
“I have to make sure my plan is a conservative one, it’s a smart one, and it doesn’t take any undue careless risks with Rajee’s face,” Dr. Dubrow said on the show.
Over the course of seven weeks, Rajee underwent four separate surgeries. The results were gradual but meaningful. Her face began to look closer to what she had always imagined for herself.
“My confidence has definitely improved,” she told Barcroft following the procedures. “It has changed my life. It really has. I know I’m a big personality, so I’m always going to get stares, but now the stares are a little different.”
A Platform Built From Pain
Today, Rajee Narinesingh is recognized not primarily as a victim of a dangerous procedure, but as a community activist whose reach has extended far beyond the United States.
She works with LGBTQ organizations and advocacy groups, speaking publicly about the dangers of black market cosmetic procedures and the specific vulnerabilities that drive people — particularly transgender women with limited financial resources — toward them.
“I call myself a world activist or a community activist,” she told The Body. “Because of my advocacy for the black-market injections, it took me global. No, it literally did. And now I hear from people in Uganda and Australia, honey. It’s crazy. Pakistan. Wow, it’s amazing.”
She speaks about what happened to her not with bitterness but with the particular clarity of someone who has found purpose in surviving something that could easily have destroyed her.
“I consider that a blessing,” she said, “because it gave me a bigger platform to do my advocacy and my activism.”
Why This Story Still Matters
Black market cosmetic procedures remain a serious and underreported problem, particularly in communities where legitimate access to gender-affirming care is financially out of reach. The substances used by Morris were not unusual in the context of illegal pumping parties — a term used in some communities for gatherings where unlicensed practitioners perform these procedures in private settings.
The consequences can be severe, permanent, and in some cases fatal. Medical professionals and advocacy organizations have repeatedly warned about the risks, but the combination of financial barriers and social stigma continues to push vulnerable people toward dangerous alternatives.
Rajee’s story puts a face — literally — on those risks. It also demonstrates something that statistics and warnings cannot: what it looks like to survive, to seek justice, and to transform the worst experience of your life into something that helps other people avoid the same fate.
She made, as she put it herself, lemon meringue pie out of lemons.
The result is a life that looks nothing like the nightmare it passed through — and a woman who is, by every available measure, exactly who she always knew herself to be.