At around the age of 13, my nose began to take on a life of its own. What was once cute in childhood took a drastic turn for the worse with puberty. I grew a large dorsal hump and the tip began to droop, leaving me with the feeling my unfeminine feature doomed me to a future of stirring large cauldrons of potion in the back woods.
As a young girl, I voiced my wish for rhinoplasty, but it was never more than a passing comment. The idea of “unnecessary” surgery left both my parents and me with just enough fear to push the idea aside - never mind the concern of how to find a really good doctor. At the risk of sounding very old, this was during the days when the internet was new and Google didn’t yet exist.
Thus, for two decades, I lived with my nose as it was, even as I felt inclined to give it its own name and introduce it as its own person wherever I went. I did what I could to shield my offensive profile from the eyes of the innocent and unsuspecting, knowing that once seen it could never be un-seen. Frankly, there was no conversation I could hold with a fellow human being where I was not conscious of the growth that made its happy home in the center of my face.
At long last, I had enough. At 33 years of age, after having found success in my professional life and being married the love of my life for nearly 8 years, I knew that any decision to change the appearance of my nose would be solely for my own personal psyche. I was fortunate to have the full blessing of my immediate family, and the fabulous support of Google.