My nose has not been so lucky thus far. In my baby pictures I’ll admit it looks cute. However after ploughing it into a brick wall (backie from my cousin aged 7), slamming it into a concrete floor twice (a dare gone wrong aged 12 and a drunk dare gone wrong aged 25) and taking a swift kick to the face courtesy of my black belt owning husband last year (he swears it was an accident) would I still describe it as cute? Not so much.
Oh and there’s also the fact that I had an operation to remove a bump and ease my breathing when I was 15. Well that must of helped right? Wrong. First issue was the timing. It happened two weeks before my GCSEs. So the kids that had taken the piss out of my nose for five years running were able to bow out on a high when, instead of having bump, I had a face full of bruising, bandages and blood. Lovely.
A month after the surgery was the start of the summer holidays. That first Friday night was the night my nose exploded. You may think I’m exaggerating, but I covered a wall in blood when the blood vessel went bang and soaked one of my Mum’s best bath towels on the way to the hospital. I’d like to think that was karma for her telling (a very dramatic) me to stop getting my knickers in a twist over a little nose bleed before the bursting of the vessel. Ha. I had to have it cauterised by what was essentially a soldering iron. Grim.
A month after that it was my post op check up. I told the doctor that I still couldn’t breathe at all on one side and that it felt swollen. After a bit of prodding he left the room and came back wheeling in a machine the size of a small fridge. He made me put one hand in front of the other and turned them both upwards and apart. The he laid a good twenty sturdy green towels across my palms.
Then he switched on the machine.
It was basically a super powered Dyson before super powered Dyson’s existed. At the end of the tube was something akin to a sturdy glass straw. Said straw went up my nostril and when it came back out it bought with it a twelve inch long, four inch wide lump of goo. It looked like the poltergeist from GhostBuster but nowhere near as cute. When I first saw it I thought it was my brain. Mum was speechless. If it happened in this day and age it’d be all over the internet. Dad was devastated when Mum told him about it when we got back to the car. Still in shock sitting in the back seat I could see my dad’s eyes widening in direct parallel to the distance Mum pulled her hands apart like a fisherman recalling the size of that day’s best catch.
As for the bump that was removed the surgeon got a bit carried away and what was an outward lump turned into a 3mm deep dent. The aforementioned drunken bet gone wrong turned the 3mm deep dent into 1cmx5mm deep dent framed by bones you could see through the skin.
The kick to the head by my husband resulted in the tip of my nose pointing to the left like a weathervane. In case you’re wondering he was getting out of a loft without a ladder and my face was in the way. My mum can corroborate the story having been witness to the incident. That is if she could see through her tears of laughter.
Not only looking like a comedy nose I still can’t breathe through it properly, I sneeze ALL the time and it hurts at the end of each day because of the ridiculously thick framed glasses I wear in an effort to hide it. Oh yeah, and I’ve not blown my nose since 1992.
So, after years of deliberation and false starts I’ve finally broken. I’m finally getting my nose ‘done’.