By Susan Helms                                                  Click Here to Post Your  Review

June 1973 pgs. 28-29,40-41

 
I looked at my face in the mirror at my hospital room for the last time. And I was glad. I never wanted to see that homely nose again. In a few minutes I'd be going into the operating room for plastic surgery. Yes, after a whole lifetime (almost 16 years) of being embarrassed by my looks, I was getting a nose job.

Only Pinocchio could know how agonizing it is to go through life with a monstrous nose. It came between everything I've ever wanted-friends, fun, and most of all, a guy. I felt like some kind of cripple to be cursed with my nose. All I could do was grit my teeth and keep back the tears and bare all the insults and nicknames I got everyday. Most of all, it made me so self-conscious that I could never get up enough nerve to try and meet the big heart throb (and heartache!) of my life-Derek. He was a new guy at our school, and every planning, plotting, pretty Foxy Lady had her eyes on him. There was no way I could face up to that competition. . . so I just hid in the shadows and the crowds at school and watched him from a safe distance.
 

I wouldn't even try to speak to him with my "super nose" marring my whole face; he would probably laugh me out of existence if I ever tried to come on cool and flirty and confident like the other girls at school.
 

I studied my nose carefully trying to be objective. Without my nose my face would be o.k., in fact, it would be better than o.k., it would be pretty. My hair was long and thick, my eyes were a beautiful green and the rest of my body was pretty shapely. It was just that darned nose that was too big for me. It looked like a double-barreled nose with a big hooked bump that you couldn't miss. I thought about a lot of things before I was wheeled into that operating room. I was sick to death of not being noticed by guys, especially Derek; and sick of hearing my catty girlfriends tell me how "nice" I was but never how "pretty" I looked.
 

I could hear my mother saying, "Beauty is only skin- deep, dear. It's what's on the inside that counts." But what I had raging inside me wasn't nice-I was in agony; I hated the world and was full of jealousy because everybody else I knew had a normal nose. Sure, I did a good job hiding everything and compensated by being a girl with a lot of personality. In fact, I was a real success at making people really like me. But being "liked" by a guy like Derek is like getting a hot fudge sundae without the hot fudge. What I wanted was to be loved, cherished, and swept off my feet by a fox who was nothing less than handsome, exciting and romantic. Someone like Derek, not those "second- string" guys who had been taking me out lately. Humble Henry, for instance, with inch-thick glasses and who never even tried to hold my hand until our third date! I guess because I never really felt pretty, I never went after the guys I wanted because I just assumed they wouldn't like me.
 

Naturally, I had heard about plastic surgery. I read how Raquel Welch had her nose fixed. But I never thought about it for myself (except in fantasy) until I met a girl at my school who had had it done. I figured if she could do it, so could I. I talked it over with my parents and they thought it was a ridiculous idea for me, but I pushed it so much that at the end of the conversation they. said (only half seriously) that if I earned half the money, they'd pay the other half for the operation.
 

That's all the encouragement I needed! From that minute on I saved every cent I could get my hands on. I babysat, washed cars, banked my birthday money, got summer jobs, sold Christmas cards door-to-door until nearly one whole year passed and I had $400 saved.
 

My mom and dad were so shocked that I saved all that money, they just couldn't say, "No: when I told them I had made an appointment with a plastic surgeon (the same one my friend at school used).

The Consultation

 

I was really worried about my first appointment with the doctor. I had visions of him telling me I couldn't have the nose job. Maybe he'd say there was nothing you could do when your nose was as bad as mine! Or maybe he'd say I was too vain and lecture me on how I should develop my personality. That's all I needed, getting the "beauty is only skin deep" routine that I'd heard so often. I could even hear him say it would cost $7,000 instead of the $700 that I had heard was the average cost.
 

All of these thoughts raced through my head as I drove to the doctor's office for an early 9:00 appointment. On top of all my other fears, I was a born coward when it came to seeing a doctor. I'm the type who gets weak in the knees thinking about a simple flu shot, and here I was offering my face to the scalpel.
 

With cold, sweaty palms and butterflies in my stomach I took the elevator to the 17th floor of the huge medical center to Dr. H.'s office.
 

I felt a little nervous when I walked in. (I could picture the receptionist taking one look at my nose and shrieking, "Emergency!" or something equally as freaky.) But to my relief she was very friendly and just had me fill in some forms with my name, address and other things on it. After I finished this, the nurse ushered me down a little hallway with plush carpeting and rich mahogany wood panels into the doctor's office. Dr. H. was a "MAN FROM GLAD" type with snow-white hair and a tanned healthy-looking face.
 

He shook my hand warmly and asked, "What can I do for you?" (As if he didn't know by taking a good look at me!)
 

I told him right off that I was interested in getting my nose fixed. With that little formality out of the way, I was led into the examining room which looked more like a dentist's office (chair and all) except that two walls of the room were solid mirrors and the remaining walls were covered with bronze velvet-patterned wallpaper-the kind you see in expensive boutiques.
 

The Mirror Test

Dr. H. held a gold hand mirror close to my face so that with the help of all the wall mirrors, I could get a good view of my nose from all angles. (ugh!) He then covered part of my nose up and using his artist-like fingers molded over one side of my nose so I could see for myself what I'd look like with a smaller nose. At this point, I started getting ecstatic and my heart was pumping so fast, I could hardly stand it! I had planned to tell him I'd like to look like Raquel Welch, but as he and his surgical nurse, Ann, got to discussing "it" (my nose), I was too fascinated to say a word. They thought my nose should be a little shorter, raised slightly and of course he'd remove the bump at the top and narrow it out at the bottom. It all sounded great to me and I would have started jumping up and down but I had just started to become completely dazed.
 

I was so dazed in fact that when the doctor filled me in on all the gory details of the operation, I didn't even flinch. There would be two days in the hospital, he said. I'd go in on an afternoon, and then be operated on the following morning. There would be some pain and discomfort. I'd be bandaged heavily and have a splint for a week. And my entire face would be swollen and black and blue for several weeks. The price for the operation would be $750, plus the hospital bill, plus $150 for the anesthesiologist. Fortunately my dad's insurance covered the hospital bill, but I hadn't counted on the extra $150. My heart sank! I couldn't ask my parents to shell out another penny. They just couldn't afford it.
 

At that moment, I knew it had all sounded too good to be true. But then I tuned myself back into what the doctor was saying. (I guess he noticed that look of desperation on my face when the price was mentioned.) In a kind voice he added, "Of course, you could get by without the anesthesiologist. But that would mean you'd be awake during the entire operation. Even though you wouldn't feel any pain, it could be a bad experience for you."
 

I started regaining some hope. "Does that mean it would cost $150 less?" I asked.

When Dr. H. nodded, "Yes", I was again ecstatic.

At the end of the discussion, Dr. H. asked me if I was sure I wanted to go through with it. It took me about two and a half seconds to decide! "Yes," I said, "How soon can you do it?"
 

Dr. H. then sent me to the "appointment" nurse who would contact the hospital to schedule my "rhinoplasty," the medical term for a nose job. I had heard about six- month waiting lists to get in, so my heart was in my throat as she flipped through the appointment book past the next two months. Just then the receptionist walked in and announced, "Mrs. Keefer has cancelled her face lift operation for Wednesday. She's been sick with the London flu."
 

I was flabbergasted when the nurse asked if I could go into the hospital Wednesday, the day after tomorrow.
 

I jumped at the chance. I then became even more dazed as I filled out the papers for the hospital, and had my "before" pictures taken right then by the nurse. Now all I had to do was get my parents' signatures on the papers and try and stand waiting for one and a half more days. I walked around school in a trance that afternoon, and secretly thought about how I would have the confidence (and the ammunition!) to go after the foxiest dudes in school with my pretty new face. But I didn't even tell my best friend Carry about my operation. . . I was too excited and nervous, and a little scared. I'm sure I'd have been a basket case if, like most patients, I had to wait for several months.

I Arrive at the Hospital
 

Finally, Wednesday afternoon arrived, and my mother (more nervous than I was) drove me to the hospital.
 

While she was signing my admission papers,. I was led down to the hospital laboratory for a blood test and urinalysis. (just my luck-there was a cute lab assistant there to
hand me the little cup and show me to the restroom.)
 

Finally, my mother left and I was on my own. My parents had tried to talk me out of the operation by bringing up the possibility that I wouldn't be happy with my new nose. At least I knew what I had by keeping the old one, they said. This didn't cut it with me though. I figured that anything would be better than my "old" nose. I wasn't really that fussy. I just wanted to be gorgeous. And no one was going to stop me from trying to improve myself-not now.
 

After some dinner, a little television and a sleeping pill that totally zonked me out, I slept my last night with my old nose.

The Operation

Early Thursday morning, the nurse woke me up to give me some medication to "relax" me for the operation. Pretty 'soon I was in what the doctor called "a twilight sleep." I could see and understand everything going on around me, but I just didn't worry about it. It was almost like a dream.
 

I can remember an orderly wheeling me on one of those portable beds to the operating room. As I lay outside the room waiting to be rolled in, my mind flashed back to my first day in the doctor's office when he said I would be conscious during the entire operation; that I would hear him actually cutting the cartilage in my nose and reshaping it with his rubber-gloved hands. A moment of panic gripped my heart and I felt all my nervous excitement seep out of me, and all that was left was cowardly fright. I turned my head away from the door of the operating room and saw my reflection in a glass window. My mind flicked back to the first time I had spotted Derek at school. I remembered that terrible feeling of hopeless longing for his attention and his love, and then that old companion of mine, frustration, built up until I thought I would explode. I was frustrated because I couldn't just mince up to him,  batter my eye lashes and throw him for a loop. It was all because of my nose. . . .
 

I again saw the endless reflections of my homely face in the mirrors in the doctor's office.. . My face seemed to pulsate in my mind. Then, I felt a stinging sensation in my arm as someone gave me a shot:
 

"It's an antibiotic," said the nurse, "to prevent infection." And she wheeled me into the operating room where the doctor waited for me in his green gown, mask and rubber gloves. He winked at me and smiled. Hazily, I noticed the nurse had on eye makeup, and I tried to remember where I heard that they weren't supposed to wear it during surgery. . .
 

Dr. H. said. "Hello," to me and it felt good to hear a familiar voice. The nurse strapped my arms and legs to the operating table. I felt like I was Frankenstein, but she  apologetically explained that I'd be awake during the operation and jokingly added that the doctor preferred no assistance. Above the table I could see a series of large mirrors which were used by Medical Students observing an operation. Through these same mirrors, I would see my operation.
 

Imagine getting four or five shots with long needles right in your face near your eyes, nose and mouth and you can pretty well guess what it feels like. I was really gripping the sides of the operating table during the injections. Finally my face was completely numb and they were ready to operate I drifted off to sleep for part of the operation, but every so often I'd be alert to what was happening. It was quite an experience to hear Dr. H. and his surgical nurse, Ann, talking while they were working on me. I knew that all the surgery is done through the nostrils using small scalpels which are guided easily into the nose with the help of magnifying glasses. There are no incisions or cuts made on the outside of your nose or face. But to hear the loud scraping noises I would have guessed they were tearing up a sidewalk with a hammer and chisel. There was really no pain at all because the local anesthetic had completely numbed my face. But the worst part of my nose job was actually seeing the doctor operate, scraping and cutting, by watching my reflections in the overhead mirrors, and seeing the nurse carefully remove bloodstained surgical pads from my nose. I just closed my eyes and let myself fall into a drowsy, drugged sleep although I could hear everything. And when Dr. H. asked me if the noise bothered me, I pretended I was brave and whispered, "No problem." Both Dr. H. and Ann remarked several times about what a good patient I was. And I was really proud of myself.

After what seemed like 400 hours (although I was only in the operating room for one and a half hours), Dr. H. and Ann started discussing whether or not they should make my nose smaller. I felt a sense of desperation in wanting to make that decision myself, but somehow I knew that it would be rude to interrupt. In my drowsy state, I felt like I was just a third party whose opinion didn't matter. Ann told Dr. H. that I needed "it" just a little narrower, but the tip was good because it balanced my chin which juts out just a little. I heard some more scraping and then the nurse exclaimed, "That's it, right there. It's perfect for her face!" With that, the operation was over. The doctor sewed two or three stitches way up inside my nose, and then taped a splint to the outside of my nose. The splint was made of a soft metal that was molded over my nose covering it  completely. It was held securely with miles of heavy white adhesive tape. I was then wheeled back to my room.

 I remember feeling sleepy for almost the rest of the day, but I could get up and use the bathroom on my own and even change out of my hospital gown into my own pajamas with no assistance. I watched some soap operas on TV and dozed off and on for the rest of the day. It seemed like the nurse came in every five minutes to take my temperature and blood pressure.
 

I Start to Hurt

Toward the end of the day the local anesthesia wore off and I started to hurt. Just when this happened, a nurse popped in the room with a mild pain pill. (She must have had. it timed.) This helped a lot to ease the pain. Then I became aware of some other little problems such as not being able to breathe.
 

My nose was stuffed with packing to prevent bleeding. It also prevented breathing. Then under the tip of my nose covering most of my upper lip was a thick gauze bandage which prevented me from opening my mouth very far. Besides not being able to breathe, it was impossible to eat. I also had difficulty talking without moving my upper lip. Then there was smiling. That was the real killer-very painful.
 

Later Thursday afternoon, I got up to look in the mirror (more to see if my face was still there than anything else). All I saw in the mirror were two strange swollen eyes looking out of a mass of bandages. I heard I might turn black and blue, but no one ever told me I'd be purple and yellow. But that's what I saw in the mirror around my eyes-dark purple and yuk yellow. I went to sleep Thursday night (zonked out by a sleeping pill again) dreaming of my rainbow colors.
 

Friday Morning
 

Friday morning the nurse awakened me early so I could eat breakfast (soft foods only). When I didn't eat anything, she asked why. It was really hard to explain that mushy oatmeal and prune juice made me gag when I couldn't talk. But after a while, she got the hint and took away the tray.
 

A few minutes later my "Man from Glad," Dr. H., came in to take out the packing in my nose and discharge me from the hospital. I was tired of being brave so when he started pulling out of my nose the miles of packing (which looks like thick string except that it's all bloody,) I closed my eyes. When it was all out, I could breathe for a few minutes, but then he covered the tip of my nose with a bandage again and I began my long suffocation process.
 

The next few days passed so slowly it seemed like a year went by. I was getting bored and irritable. One thing that I hadn't counted on was not being able to sleep, but it was impossible when I couldn't breathe and couldn't turn over without killing myself. So I suffered, but happily, Because I knew I'd have to look better after all this-no matter what.

The Unbandaging

Finally, a week went by and it was time for my doctor's appointment and my unbandaging. It was such a big production-it was like the unveiling of Venus or something. I lay on the examining table and the nurse took off all the tape that was holding the splint on. Then Dr. H. looked my face over carefully and said,
 

"Oh that looks great-beautiful."
 

I expected to see the face of a beautiful Greek goddess when he handed me the gold hand mirror. But all I saw were two swollen eyes staring out of a purple and yellow face. My nose looked all mushed up and the tip was swollen and as "colorful" as I was, but the "new" nose looked good to me already.
 

As the next few weeks dragged by, I started looking better and better. I had two more brief doctor's appointments, one to check the stitches inside my nose (which would eventually dissolve on their own) and the last appointment to have my "after" pictures taken.
The morning after my last doctor's appointment I looked into the mirror to find a pretty face with a small slender nose. I couldn't believe it-there in the mirror was a new me with a new nose. I could have burst with absolute joy. I felt a surge of confidence and strength rush to my head. There I was, a pretty girl with everything to gain and nothing to lose. I posed in front of the mirror and winked my eye and battered my eyelashes, and practiced flirting. For the first time in my life I felt confident and really proud of myself from the tip of my toes to the tip of my nose. All I could think was what it would be like to be in Derek's arms. But this time it wasn't fantasy-I was going to make it happen! Thanks to my new nose.
 

A lot of kids asked me afterwards if I would go through it all again if I had to. I always answer, "YES!" without a moment's hesitation. I'd have the operation 1 0 times if I had to. Oh, I didn't come out of the surgery looking exactly like Raquel Welch, and guys don't drop dead on the streets when I walk by. But they look, and smile, and notice me like they never did before. I look pretty, but more important I feel  pretty. And that's worth a whole  lot!

Star Magazine Copyright © 1973 Petersen Publishing Company