I’ve finally done it. I’ve finally taken care of my nose thing. My septum had become twisted after a nasal infection 6 years ago. Then in 2003, rushing to buy a pair of jeans at Harvey Nich’s in the UK, I ran into a glass door. My nose bled a lot, but the jeans were on sale. My doctor seems to think that injury might have left scaring as well. Or not at all. Who knows. Doctors say so little. They just want to cut first and diagnose later, so I was wary of any surgical procedure.
Then I saw some promotional photos, taken in a comedy club in Soho, and my nose just looked so, i dunno, swollen. Like I’d been punched, but only at the very tip, where the septum ends. I’d never loved my tiny nose, it had always seemed to small for my face, but suddenly I found myself obsessed with the end of my nose, and the worry that this growth might take on a life of it’s own, like Karl Malden’s schnoz. I mean, he did lots of TV. He must have been rich. Why didn’t he fix that thing?
My doctor told me the growth would only grow stranger. Noses grow. That’s what they do. And soon the nostril would be blocked, I wouldn’t be able to breath through it, and I’d die in my sleep. Actually, the death part I added, but we all die. We’re all the same. We all distrust our noses. Or is that the painkillers talking?
Doc wanted to break my nose, making my bridge bigger, and then reshape both nostrils, bringing the tip of my nose down. He’s basically Picasso with a scalpel, and he become almost exhuberant about the possibilities of what he and i might achieve. But I didn’t want perfection. I didn’t want a classic profile. I just wanted my old nose returned to me, without the twist.
I woke up during the surgery. Twice. Oddly, there was a second doctor standing over me. Well, not standing. Digging. Both doctors looked as though they were scraping away at my face with putty knives. They were leaning forward, grimacing, like it was hard work. I felt a great deal of moving pressure against my cheek bones, but my hands were tied to the table, I couldn’t move, so I moaned, “I can see you. I can feel that.”
When I had my consultation with my doctor the following day, I asked if I’d dreamt that a second doctor had assisted. He said, oh yes, that’s my technician. Right. And were you both scraping away?
“Might have been.”
Weird the trauma one must go through in order to return to whatever one was. Or thinks he was. I’m not sure if the surgery was successful. I’m still bandaged like the invisible man. I really thought it would be a ‘slice and you’re outta here’ kinda thing, where he’d cut me, sow me up and i’d be out dancing and drinking at Daddy’s that evening. But I’m not going anywhere. Apparently there were more obstructions than had been presumed. Typical. I love building walls. Then walking into them.
Actually, I went out for a meal last night with my sister. If there’s anyone that likes seeing me bandaged, it would be her. Not that she’s malicious, but I have won a lot of arguments. Anyway, on the way into some Vegan Trendy San Fran Hell restaurant chosen for proximity’s sake, a guy skateboarding by said “Skateboarding?” He’d assumed I’d injured myself flying off four wheels.
I said, “No, I’m 46.”
His reply: “So am I!”
San Francisco is full of people seeking their youth. Either through baggy shorts or nose surgeries, we want back what we think we missed out on. So I’m including a photo of myself here at 19, and one of myself yesterday, 27 years later. It reminds me my nose is a bridge to nowhere. I can’t go back. Breathing clearly is as much as I can ask for.
Update, a few days later:
I’m still bandaged, but less drugged. A bit less. Actually I’m on steroids to reduce the swelling, and my apartment has never been cleaner. I’ve cleaned it three times, starting from three different angles because that dust is clever. However I always finish up naked in my bathroom. So who’s the cleverest? I guess that would be my tiles then. My shiny, clean tiles. And my grout.
So, yes, I spoke with my Doc yesterday. He’s handsome, 60 ish, with soft, confident hands and a lovely, melodious, reassuring voice. I’m honored to have shared a putty knife with him. Anyway he offered more surgical details. Are you sitting? Have a barf bag nearby, if you don’t already.
He started my surgery by filleting my nose, then peeling it back. I know. HOT!! Look at me, I’m a trout. Finally. Then, he scraped grooves into one side of my septum – the lucky side, obviously – so it would bend easier.
“You know, the way you do with a piece of cardboard.”
Yeah, whatever hot stuff.
Then, my septum, which was pointing one centimetre to the left, he bent so it’s straight. There goes my French film career. He then secured my septum in place by sowing it to the bone behind my upper lip. Hence the stitches in my gums, which I thought had magically appeared because I’m – what? – evolving. I’d always wanted gills. Oh well.
Then – oh yeah, there’s more – he grafted cartilage onto my air holes, where bone had grown over. That sounds dirty, which I like. Of course he had to GRIND down the bone first. Hence the pressure on my cheekbones that woke me up. And the lack of dignity.
Immediately after the procedure, I demanded I be allowed to piss. And boy, did I flow. For about 3 minutes. The nurse was concerned, she called me at home to suggest I get tested for diabetes.
“You urinated before and after the surgery. Is that normal?”
You mean, do I pee a lot when I’m having face work done? Who wouldn’t? it’s all so exciting to be renewed. What a bitchy question: I’ve NEVER had work done to my face. if I had, do you think I’d look like Kevin Bacon? I mean, voluntarily?
Thing is, I didn’t urinate before the surgery. I just told them that. I pooed, but I was too shy to mention my poop. However, being drugged into complete passivity so I could have my face sliced open and then raked, that’s fine. Go for it. Severe my sinuses, but I’d rather never discuss my brown star.
Actually, the doc’s job seems to have worked. Already I’m breathing better, and my nose is still packed. I’ll report more on thursday, after my new face is finally revealed for all the world to see. Then it’s off to a gay sauna, to see if all this has worked to my cock-attracting advantage.
Oops. My nose is oozing. I’m sure there’s a chat room for that.
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