Free Last Dance, Last Chance by Ann Rule Page A

her questions, saying he didn’t really do plastic surgery in his office. He did admit that he was doing occasional tummy tucks, but everyone knew those were “easy.”
    Asked about what he used as anesthesia, Anthony shook his head and said he used only “sedation” and never considered general anesthesia. He used narcotics for the sedation. When the visiting doctor pressed him to specify which narcotic, he answered, “Versed.” Versed is a powerful drug given intravenously.
    It was apparent to the investigating physician that Anthony Pignataro did not have the training to become legitimately board-certified by the American Board of Medical Specialities in Plastic Surgery. The investigator wasn’t reassured at all by his glib responses and his unctuous, confident manner. She stared Anthony Pignataro in the eye and said, “You had better stop these [plastic surgery] procedures in the office before you kill somebody.”
    He stared back at her, neither angry nor insulted. He was hardly impressed. In his own mind, he was confident that he was far more skilled than any board-certified, hospital-approved physician. Far beyond the mundane doctor, he had imagination and the ability to see beyond the staid old methods. It was only that other doctors were envious of his skill.
    Later, Anthony would write about that interview, and it was as if the doctor’s warning was a hollow shout into the wind. Anthony’s own version of the meeting demonstrated his talent for twisting the truth to suit himself: “With the surgical suite fully operational, the cosmetic practice improved as more patients were able to afford the procedures,” he wrote confidently. “In this state, physicians are overseen by the Department of Health…The Department of Health has always maintained a justifiable vigil on physicians doing more and more procedures in the office. Nonetheless, this was the trend in the 1990s. A cadre of health department officials had already reviewed the practice and done an on-site review of the facility. Having not a single violation was a comforting, positive sign.”
    He had forgotten the investigator’s warning that he might kill someone with his office surgery; he saw only a “comforting, positive sign…”
     
    In 1995, Anthony Pignataro became partially “certified” by the American Board of Cosmetic Surgery and Facial Cosmetic Surgery. But to do this, he had had to prove he was board-certified in otolaryngology, which, of course, he was not. Instead, he faxed the Facial Cosmetic board a forged diploma dated October 31, 1991, guaranteeing his good standing in otolaryngology.
    He took only the first part of the test, deciding to get more “practice” in the coming year before he took the part that encompassed cosmetic surgery on the entire body. “Having passed the standard written portion, I would only have had to face the eight hours of grueling oral examiners again—a bone-chilling prospect at best.”
    He hated probing questions, but now Anthony was very optimistic. “In April, 1995, I took and passed the written as well as the oral exam for facial cosmetic surgery. Recognizing the sacrifices my family and office staff had made so that I could steal away for hours of study, I treated the entire family and staff to a five-star meal at a nearby restaurant…This was the true validation of my long-enduring academic history. I had definitely paid my dues. The day the notice came in the mail, I opened the envelope at about 11:00 A.M. No one of the staff was aware…It was 4:00 P.M. before anyone was made aware of my success. I needed those five hours to savor the moment just for myself…”
    It apparently didn’t matter at all to him that he had used a forged diploma to qualify to take this exam. If Anthony Pignataro was anything, he was expedient. Whatever it took to accomplish his goals, he did without a backward thought. He had so much to offer the world that he couldn’t allow “small thinkers” to