Think of the children

Public Address Jun 19, 2006

Unless you are planning to get yourself smacked in the face with a piece of four by two this Thursday, I predict that I will be waking up on Friday morning feeling less comfortable than you. Elective surgery; upon the nose.

I have broken it twice, but being broken is only half the story. Huge, it is. In all but the fiercest storm, a small family could huddle safely in its shelter.

You may or may not be aware that certain parts of your body keep growing until the day you die. I can still recall the dismal day I learned that the nose is one of those body parts.

From time to time I would come across an article about rhinoplasty and wonder if it might be for me. I would say to friends : I’ve been thinking about getting my nose done. And without exception they would say in the polite way people do: no, no, it’s fine, you don’t need to do that, and I would say No, really. I want them to make it bigger. That would pierce their diplomatic guard; they couldn’t help themselves. Embarrassed laughter.

But I would never act on it. It would be vain to get it corrected. Vain and shallow. I chose to wear my big, broken, twisted, hooked and still-growing nose with grace and forbearance.

Never say never. One day about six weeks ago, I happened to hear Michael Laws interviewing the very doctor who examines me once a year for moles, melanomas and other dangerous entities. The topic was cosmetic surgery, the lines were open and the callers could not get enough of him. He’s very good at it. He took us through minor blemishes, major disfigurements and everything you have ever wanted to ask about the business of nipping and tucking.

Inevitably, there was a caller who wanted to discuss her nose. She hated it. She had hated it all her life, and she would dearly love to see it changed. The car radio now had my full attention. Dr Grey explained the practicalities of rhinoplasty, and then turned to the emotional dimension. He had seen such procedures bring much joy to people. He probably didn’t use the words “Change your life” but you certainly filled yourself with the conviction that, dammit, vanity or not, this warranted further exploration.

Before you could say ear nose and throat specialist, I had an appointment. I was still a tyre-kicker at this point. For one thing, I was of the view that a general anaesthetic was something to be had only when it was completely unavoidable. In that respect, I may have been unduly cautious. Our neighbour, who’s an anaesthetist, says that would have been sound thinking twenty years ago. Back then, people underestimated the risk; today, he says, it’s far safer and they exaggerate the danger. Anyway, off I went to Mr Rhinoplasty Surgeon.

He had me sold at the first sentence. “I love it when people like you walk in,” he said. It seems there are young women who will undergo procedures for which their need is, at most, slight. Inevitably, the results of the surgery may not be readily discernible, leading to disgruntlement. The customer is always right, especially at these rates.

In the nicest possible way, he told me there would be no danger of the difference being imperceptible in my case. He took photos, he described the procedure, and to my great delight, he informed me that there’d be no need for a general anaesthetic. It’s done under intravenous sedation. One may even wear one’s iPod, if one wishes.

I was sold. I returned a week later to see the indicative photos with some excitement. There on the screen of his laptop was a picture of me with a simple, regular nose. Vanity be fucked, I was having that.

Earlier this year we were on holiday with friends. The four year old said to his mother, pointing at me – Mummy, you know what he looks like? He looks like a goblin! She smiled weakly in my direction, a little flustered, I gave her a reassuring grin. And truly, I was amused, not stung. But should a man have a nose that frightens small children?

No, it would not do. Not when I could have a nose like that one there in the perdy pitcher.

So that’s that. Thursday morning, I go under the knife. Christie, if you think these pictures are gory, wait until you see what I’ve got coming.

All I have to do now is make a playlist. I fancy the likes of Jane’s Addiction, Alejandro Escovedo, Champion Jack Dupree, The Damnwells, and Charlie Robison would work well, but this is fresh territory for me, so feel free to make suggestions. What’s good to listen to while you’re under sedation and having a chisel taken to the middle of your face?

Vital Signs

Jun 23, 2006

Here are some things you can’t do if your blood pressure is too high and your heart is rendering the wrong kind of ECG test:

1. Go deep sea diving

2. Fly a 747

3. Get a nose job.

Of all the ways I thought yesterday might turn out, the one eventuality I had not contemplated was getting a ride to North Shore Hospital in an ambulance. The short story is: I have the same nose I had yesterday. The long one is contained in the patient’s notes:

Patient arrives at clinic, changes into gown, signs forms, gets blood pressure tested.

Patient sits, waits, gazes out window, picks up iPod.

Anaesthetist arrives, patient puts iPod back down.

Anaesthetist seems more stern than the others. Announces: “Blood pressure looks a bit high. We’ll wait five minutes and check it again.”

Five minutes elapse, check again. Higher.

Five more minutes. Anaesthetist now begins searching battery of questions about patient’s cardiac history. As questions proceed, anaesthetist’s concern about results of pre-operative ECG test emerges. Wave pattern not what he would like. Suggests heart under load.

Check blood pressure again. Now through roof.

Patient remains composed in mind, wishes to proceed with procedure. Body now rebels.

Anaesthetist continues to press matter of cardiac well-being as patient’s head begins to swim. Reluctantly discloses sensation of dizziness. Expresses need to lower head to this pillow here. Expresses apology as head falls.

Patient comes around to sea of anxious faces. Theatre now full of personnel in blue uniforms swiftly attaching patient to ECG monitor.

Patient is given oxygen mask, is informed that operation will not proceed and that ambulance has been called.

Patient is soon travelling through Takapuna on his back, looking out at the clear blue sky and feeling nauseous.

Emergency department at North Shore Hospital has full complement of junior doctors and efficient nurses who have patient swiftly attached to ECG monitor. Blood tests and X-Rays follow. House surgeon has reassuring diagnosis that troubling elements of ECG appear historical in nature – legacy of 19 year old heart attack. Patient has several hours for contemplation as tests are analysed and vital signs remain under observation.

Patient finally gets around to listening to podcasts of Ricky Gervais show. Hilarious.

Patient watches people come and go, observes noses of great variety, all interesting in their own way. Reads notes on admission board alongside patient names. Most denoted “C.P”. Later, challenge friend to translate. Sympathetic friend thinks for moment, then declares: “Complete Pussy.”

Actually stands for Chest Pain.

Consultant arrives in mid-afternoon. Declares patient safe for discharge. Patient should see cardiologist. Patient as good as word, sets events immediately in motion with trip to GP. Patient explains day’s events, wonders if blood pressure might reflect pattern of drinking. GP assesses data, concurs.

Patient reflects on lessons drawn from day of contemplation. Wonders if nose surgery really what patient needs. Asks self if nose being broken in first place in state of intoxication suggests patient could be overlooking issue as plain as nose on patient’s face.