Mel 2.0 (the #39BucketList never dies)

So, there was one item on my #39BucketList that I never had a chance to do until now…

For the second time in my life, I’m getting plastic surgery.  It sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud, and even worse when I tell other people about it.  In my defense, I have only sought plastic surgery for medically justified reasons. The first time, of course, was to get my jaw reattached after I fell and broke it during a nighttime run – the whole reason I started to blog in the first place.  This time, it’s to fix my (very real) deviated septum. And since documenting my first adventure with plastic surgery was SO much fun, I thought I’d do it again.  But be warned:  this series of posts may not be for the faint of heart!

So, how did I get here?  I never really thought about my nose until I was an adult.  Sure, there were two times when people made fun of my nose when I was younger – one was a friend in junior high (who was mad at me for reasons I don’t remember) told me that my nose looked like a long stick with a ball attached to it, and another kid in my confirmation class in 10th grade said something about it.  I always thought my nose was perfectly fine until, as a young adult, I was getting fitted for new glasses and I asked the optician what he could do to get my glasses to sit straight on my face.  And he said, “Sweetheart, it’s not the glasses – it’s your face!”  Then of course the plastic surgeon who fixed my broken jaw, “Dr. T” (aka “Dr. Adonis,” as Patrick called him) told me on multiple occasions how severe my deviated septum was and it wasn’t just about aesthetics, either.  After seeing a CAT scan of my head, he asked me, incredulous, “how do you even breathe?”  It turns out that I have likely had a deviated septum my entire life, and it has worsened with age, actually causing my nose to GROW crooked. If i don’t fix it now, it will only to continue to grow more crooked, ensuring that I’ll look like a woman in a Picasso painting by the time I am 50.  Breathing through my nose has become remarkably difficult as I’ve aged and I’ve noticed a significant impact on daily activities.

And…it just doesn’t look right. I hate getting my picture taken for fear of my face getting caught in a weird angle.  Even my amazing opportunity to be on TV last summer was a *little* bit (only a little) dampened by the fact that they shot me from the side!  Ugh.  During the live shots, the producer kept telling me to talk to the person I was shooting with instead of looking straight into the camera, and I just couldn’t do it.  Every time I turned my head I kept thinking, yuck,  my horrible nose is being featured on TV and wondered if everyone was laughing at me.  The producer (and meteorologist I was shooting with) probably thought I was being a camera hog but it was actually an attempt to not scare viewers away!  Patrick snapped a pic during the live segment that was full on profile, but fortunately, my sister was able to get a better angle.

So last summer while I was at the Cape with my inlaws and in the #39BucketList mode, I decided that it was finally time to fix my nose. My first appointment with my  ENT (Ear, Nose, Throat) specialist sure was interesting. Before I could even fully sit in the chair, the doctor called out my deviated septum as if my nose was the most twisted, deviant protrusion ever to grow from someone’s face.  As we were discussing the “options” to fix my nose, the doctor suggested that I get the “full workup” including creating a more “pleasing” profile by smoothing out the bridge of my nose, and narrowing and lifting up my nose’s extraordinarily bulbous tip, because as he said, “You’re a healthy young woman.  You don’t want to spend the rest of your life walking around looking like THAT!”  Ouch!  I wanted to ask him if he had a bag for me to put over my head on my way out.

Fortunately, the plastic surgeon to whom he referred me had a much different perspective.  She simply wants my nose to function normally and to end up looking like the natural nose I was born with, only straighter. I was floored when Patrick encouraged me to move forward with the surgery given the cost and the fact that insurance pays practically nothing.  After listening to me sleep one night with a cold, he said it sounded like I was being strangled in my sleep.  So really, Patrick just wants a good night’s sleep. Not to mention that he’s hoping that with the increased oxygen flow to my brain, my personality will improve.  Ha ha. #SolidInvestment

So, on this last evening with my crooked, deviant nose, I’m trying to avoid surgery horror stories on the internet while praying that my own rib cartilage will be sufficient to bolster my nose so that I will not need to get a donation from a cadaver (yes…I said a cadaver…somehow, I don’t think when that person gave their body to science, they thought it would be so that they could help make my nose straight). I have little idea what to expect, what I’m going to look like, how I’m going to feel, how long it’s going to take me to recover, or how the hell I’m going to finish all my work tonight and still get to bed by midnight.  Most of all, I’m really disappointed that I didn’t take time to stop and smell some flowers today.  Hoping to get my sense of smell back before the lilies of the valleys make their appearance in May.  And also (secretly) hoping that I’ll wake up tomorrow about six inches taller, ten pounds lighter, maybe blonde and my face will look like I’m 29 again. It could happen.

Me at 13ishBri and Me 2