The hardest moments are walking into or standing up in front of a room full of people who haven’t seen you before. I couldn’t work in a job as an educator, speaker or sales person. You know what people are thinking when they see you for the first time; there might even be a visible double take. Most overcome their initial reaction and soon accept you as you are. To family members, old friends and acquaintances, it doesn’t matter at all; you are defined to them by your personality, not a facial feature.
The surgery option comes up in my mind frequently. I find myself analysing others’ profiles and fantasising about the one I want, removing the superfluous but leaving enough to retain the original character. But these dreams are countered by thoughts of “What if it all goes wrong and I end up looking worse, or suffer complications, or become infected with a deadly drug-resistant bacteria introduced during the invasion into my sinuous cavities?”.
The one time the topic of rhinoplasty came up in conversation with my husband, he stated flatly that if any surgical correction were to be made, it should be an augmentation in the chest area instead. End of discussion – and another thing to add to my list of bodily imperfections.
The joy of each pregnancy was attenuated by the worry that the child might inherit my aquiline profile. Luckily, the paternal genes ruled supreme and both daughters are beautiful, with that particular feature just strong enough to add to their attractiveness, rather than large enough to take away from it.
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