"I'm sure they didn't do it like this on 'Casualty" | | No, Michael. It Looks Just Like Liz's | I only ever had two types of childhood accident, on a frequent basis. One was standing on nails and the other was having my nose bust.
I ran into doors, ran into peoples faces, had baseballs chucked at me, leather 'casers' bounce off my face with incredible velocity. It didn't stop into adulthood. At college, the games of basketball became quite vicious affairs - one legendary match, I was kicked in the face and I managed to snap my mate Garry's three fingers the wrong way round! Ouch! Accident, of course
So I get to 22 and enough is enough. The years of abuse now mean that I cannot breathe properly, at all, through my nose. When I ate, it sounded akin to feeding time at the pig trough. Slurping and gasping in the attempt to eat and keep breathing. So I went to the Doctors, she agreed that it was getting a bit serious and then referred me to the ENT Hospital. 2 months later, I'm in the consultants office (who looked startlingly like Harrod's boss, Mohammed Al Fayed) and he agrees that its all a "bit messy up there. Ho ho ho." A year later I get my date to go in...
Now up to this point I had never had an operation. Not even a basic local op. The only time I had been rendered unconscious by medical means, was having four teeth out when I was 10 with the now illegal 'gas & air' anaesthetic (I kicked the dental nurse in the head, when they had to restrain me, after I began to dislike the 'nice' minty smell!) so I was getting a little nervous at this point.
I get to the hospital and unpack my stuff in the male ward which will be my home for two nights. Graham and Tony were there to have their tonsils out due to continual cases of Tonsillitis. I'm the only 'nose job'. After much small talk, everyone is relieved when the Consultant comes round to chat. A portly, jolly fellow with flushed whisky cheeks and the full bow tie & waistcoat ensemble. He sat on the bed and told me all about what was going to happen in the morning. I wasn't listening at all! I was in complete denial. So I spend a very tense night with nowt to read but the history of the Parachute Regiment. I read that fucker twice and couldn't tell you one thing about the regiments history!
Morning comes and I'm told to put on the gown before I get wheeled down. So I put on a pair of shorts - I find out later this was a dumb idea - and slip on the gown. I'm wheeled down to the theatre and in the pre-op room, the head nurse instructs another nurse to get the cocaine paste (yeah! They use medical grade cocaine to stem the blood flow!) and he sets about putting in my canula. This bloke was the spitting image of the 'the Demon Headmaster'. The glasses, skin colour, everything! I'm wheeled into the theatre and there's 'Mr Jolly' surgeon. He gives me a big smile and a cheery wave then they unceremoniously dump me on the table he is presiding over. They whack in the sleepy juice syringe and my last memory is the horrible pressure pain of the injection and the 'injectors' funky tribal tattoo going all the way up his arm. "Cooo..oool...", I manage to burble before the darkness envelopes me.
40 minutes later, a nurse is slapping me round the chops to wake up. I open my eyes and look to my left where I have a graphic display of Graham choking whilst having the air tube thing 'ripped' out of his throat in quite a rough manner. My vision goes back to the end of my bed and theres the Jolly surgeon! He's all giddy as he explains "That really was very nasty! A bit over here (arms are waving everywhere whilst explaining), a bit over there! No wonder you were having trouble! Nevermind! I removed the bone! It should all be ok now!
I remember in my cocaine & gas high state that I went "Yaaaaaayyyyyyyyyy! Thanks mate!" and gave him the thumbs up. I get back to the ward and then, like all the greatest 'stadium snow' dabbling rock stars, I begin the rapid descent from my dopamine rush....
OH... SWEET...JESUS!!! SOMEBODY PLEASE KILL ME!! PLEASE! The pain was indescribable! My whole face pulsated with every heart beat and then I spot two latex hoses that are in front of my eyes and taped to my forehead. The source of the trouble. They had inflated a balloon in each nostril to prevent me bleeding to death which is considerate! And so began the nightmare of my first hospital stay...
I soon realise that because I have all this gubbins in my face, I can't put a t-shirt or jumper over my head. Like a dumb ass I had worn shorts to the theatre and Graham & Tony find this very amusing. (I get revenge though when both their tongues swell up later in the evening and neither can breathe properly! Har-fucking-har losers!) so I have to get into bed just to keep warm, much to the Nurses annoyance (don't ask me why). The hours pass... THUMP THUMP THUMP. I try to drink the liquid painkiller but have you ever tried to drink and hold your nose? You effectively 'drown' so I had to put up with the pain. We get to around 9pm and I'm still wide awake. I have to call the nurse to come and pop the balloon, that is trying to escape, back into my left nostril. She shoves it back in with the tenderness of a mortician. The whole ward is silent then the fire alarm goes off. It rings for 20 minutes straight and the sound just reverberates through my tender skull. I wanna cry but the tears just don't come..
About 1am, some old boy is wheeled in and placed in the bed exactly opposite to me. Nice paisley jimmy jams all tucked in etc and they leave him. I'm just propped up, staring at him through the darkness. Then he starts making little coughing sounds. They get more frequent and then all of a sudden, he sits bolt upright, and like a scene from 'Nightmare on Elm Street', he projectile vomits pure blood all over his bed!!!! I go into a complete wide eyed shock and start hitting the panic button. Nurses come running in, close the curtain and start cleaning him up. Curtains go back and he's propped up, in fresh pyjamas, starting to nod off. The nurses then leave.
I'm still in total catatonic shock! Fingers poised around the panic button and sure enough, the coughing starts again. This time not only does he vomit copious amounts of blood, but he also falls out of the bed and smacks his bonce off the little side cabinet thing. Once again. I'm hitting that button like a contestant on Catchphrase! The nurse takes the pad off me and is a bit annoyed that I keep pressing it (?!?!) Angels eh? I hear one of them call for the house doctor and he duly arrives. It appears the old man had his adenoids out and hence blood was flowing down his throat into his stomach. Your stomach cannot digest blood so it expels it from your system. Then he said the magic words, "We'll have to put in some balloons..."
They wheel him off and a few minutes later, the terrified gurgled screams of an old man ring through the corridor. If the pain was not going keep me awake, the thought that he had a similar procedure to me and I might end up doing a 'menstrual Exorcist' would. Coupled with the howling when they were putting the balloons in, I made myself go to sleep to shut out the bad things.
Wake up the next morning and the old man is gone. Nurse comes round to tell me I can get my stuff ready to go and she'll take out the balloons before I leave. She then returns with a kidney dish, slaps it on my lap and asks me to brace myself. "Schluckkk-pop" left one comes out easily. Right one takes a bit of effort but eventually yields. I look down in the dish....
Now, I accept we males may be prone to over exaggeration when it comes to illness & suffering, but what I saw is no lie! The balloons resembled 1945 prophylactics and were about 7 inches long! No bloody wonder my head was pounding! They were right into the back of my nasal cavity! And no bloody wonder the old man was screaming when they were shoving them in whilst he was fully conscious!!!!
I was discharged and had two weeks off work due to haemorraging. Every morning I would wake covered in blood. Then once this all subsided, I returned to my normal sleeping position, face down. Can you guess what happened?
Thats right! I broke it again!! But I never went back to the hospital! I purposely missed the appointment. No way was I going to go through that again. No way!
So after all that, it just boggles my mind that people pay five grand to have their little bumps and lumps taken away for the sake of vanity. I'm proud of my nose. I don't care if I look like an Israeli terrorist!
No surgeon is ever gonna get their mitts on it again!
Not while I can still - partially - breathe through it.
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