The nose - final report

Took the nose for its MOT today.

The wraps were removed and the interior was inspected and vacuumed clean.

Then it was road-tested - i.e., was it still doing its job of helping me breathe - and pronounced roadworthy once more.

I was, however, told not to get it involved in any more accidents for the next two weeks.

Or ever again, if possible.

I'm quite scared of walking down stairs in high heeled shoes now, for fear of tripping and smashing up the nose again.

I don't like to think what the surgeon would say.

Meanwhile, the trophy plaster sits on the mantelpiece.

Back to school

One of the most interesting things about this experience has been the apparent lack of reaction from others.

I'm used to having a white nose now - but I don't look exactly normal. Nor did I when I had two enormous black eyes.

Yet I have had several conversations with acquaintances and complete strangers, none of whom have let on that they have noticed anything amiss.

(My friends and closer acquaintances couldn't restrain themselves. They wanted to know all the gory details, bit by bit. I've been touched by their care and concern.)

Even the boys back at school haven't commented.

? Polite, or what? Not that I'd be offended anyway...

Getting There - I think

Back to the doctor again who removed the monstrosity of the plaster cast. He made me look at myself in the mirror - I had no choice. I briefly contemplated keeping my eyes shut but, well, I do have nerves of steel at times.

It didn't look too bad. I'm not sure exactly, because two seconds was all I got to look at it before he slapped the steri strips on again. There are so many I look as if I have a false white nose.

I was told the other day, while my nose was still in plaster, that I looked like Adam Ant - remember him, the pop star who used to wear a white strip of cloth across his face? (I've been compared to him before, au naturel - but that's another story. It was a compliment, may I add - though I've never quite worked out how.)

Now my cheeks, still bright red from the allergic reaction to the sticking plaster, make me look like Pippi Longstocking without the plaits.

Can it get worse?

The Broken Nose for the nth time

First the Accident

Then the Bruising and the Black Eyes

Then the Operation

Then the Plaster

Then the Allergy to the Plaster

Now the Piriton Effect...

Still, there must be an end in sight.

Add to that, I feel a bit of a fraud being off work just for the After Effects of a Nose Incident!

I suppose it's a bit like a car having an overhaul - everything has to settle back down and be tested carefully.

Can't wait to be back at full running speed!

The Broken Nose - AGAIN!

You'd think there would be an end to this saga.

The scenario, in my mind, goes like this:

Nose gets broken.
Nose gets fixed.
Nose gets better.
Nose is back to normal.

Still only at stage two - at least, I hope it's fixed. It feels as if it might be.

It's just the getting better bit.

I seem to be allergic to sticking plaster - the good old bright pink stretchy fabric type which is pleasantly plastered (ha ha) horizontally all the way across my face like some sort of tribal face decoration.

My cheeks are bright red, itchy and puffed up.

The plaster has been eased off my face but the skin is still sore.

And, to quote Terry Pratchett: 'Itchy, itchy, itchy...prickle prickle prickle....'

At least my nose isn't. Itchy, that is.

So it must be getting better.

Mustn't it?

Friends

What a gift it is to have friends.

Post broken nose, I have been overwhelmed with messages of concern, emails, texts, visits...

Just for a nose!

One friend, nursing a sore throat, has just dropped in with a goody bag of fresh fruit and a ready cooked chicken. I am so touched by her concern: she should be at home in the warm, not dragging herself round shops.

I feel so blessed.

Fixing the broken nose

Back from the hospital after having the nose job. My day went like this:

7.30 arrival and check in to departure lounge - whoops, ward.
7.35 change for the fright experience into amorphous hospital gown and PAPER knickers. It took me several minutes to work out which way round they went.
7.40 started reading trashy magazine.

Digression. The magazines are truly trashy. Those beloved of my teenage years and youth are now 90% celebrity or TV gossip. Totally boring. When did we turn into this 'twitching of the net curtain society' with nothing better to do but peer into other people's lives?

9.40 went to boarding gate for final preparation for the trip. Needles and monitors stuck in and all over me, then that pleasant feeling of drunkenness just before take off...

10.25 woke up just before landing back into the world. Annoyed theatre nurse by asking all sorts of questions about the fright experience as he was trying to deliver me to the ward nurse. I should have obeyed the 'keep mouth fastened until the warning light is switched off' sign on his forehead.

10.45 after fright refreshments. Never has coffee and toast been so welcome. It was at least 12 hours since I'd eaten. I just loved that individual pot of Marmite...

10.50 visit from the chief mechanic. Apparently the damage to the nose was much more extensive than it had first appeared - 'mushy' was the word used. He has pieced it all back together tho, like a jigsaw. He'll take off the scaffolding in a week's time and prepare it for a flight test. I feel like a bumble bee getting ready for a trip to a luscious smelling flower.

11.55 exit to departure lounge, ready to pass through customs. Customs official appeared after one minute, escorted me to the car and drove me home.

Bliss

Nose jokes

My nose knows no limit, it seems, as a source of inspiration to my sympathetic colleagues.

There is nostopping them.

Yesterday, they suggested that I should be the prime organiser of the Comic Relief Red Nose Day fundraising activities... (such a pity that doesn't come until March... I certainly hope that my nose has recovered by then? )

They've accused me of being a secret rugby player.

They put me forward for the First Aid course - primarily for self-help.

Looking at the enormous purplish-black bruises under my eyes, they've made comments about excessive use of eye make-up. (If only...)

All in the course of one half hour meeting.

I just love them all.

PS

After we'd read all the 'suggestions', including the one below, the kids asked me how it had really happened.

I told them.

'No way!' some of them said. 'You don't go surfing. What really happened?'

I didn't need to say another word. A furious argument erupted within the class as one faction sought to convince the other that their elderly teacher does, in fact, surf.

A wave of respect seemed to flood the room, and the sea breeze brought admiring whispers with it.

'Cool!'

What really happened to the Nose...

This is what one of the nine year olds wrote:

'Mrs Pollard was walking down the stairs when she tripped flat on her face. It didn't hurt.

She carried on until the door swung open by the wind and hit her in the face. She fell to the floor in agony.

Holding her head in her hands, she screamed at the top of her voice to let the world know she was hurt.

Mr Pollard came running in to see if she was all right.

He was scared to death! "You're not going to school today," he said.

"Well, if I'm not going to school, I might as well have a party," replied Mrs Pollard.'

Some of the other suggestions involved ogres, a visit to Club Penguin (internet chat site for under 11s!) and my deciding not to go to school in favour of consuming large quantities of pizza and drinking umpteen gin and tonics!

Priceless!

The broken nose - cause for more merriment

Back to school, and I'm not looking forward to the comments - least of all from the children.

My husband reckons my cred is going to skyrocket. After all, a surfing accident is much more exciting than falling down stairs or walking into a moving cupboard.

It's going to be the topic of some instant creative writing:

"The hapless prince screamed, struggling against the ropes which tied him, as the fearsome dragon approached. Dodging its fetid breath, Mrs Pollard leapt forward, brandishing her trusty sword Dragonslayer.

Darting between the dragon's enormous legs, she jabbed Dragonslayer upwards, piercing its scaly throat. As soon as the noxious green blood came pouring out, she raced out from underneath the monster.

Quick as she was, she was not quick enough. As she fled to safety, the dragon raked its claws across her face in a last, feeble attempt. She heard the ominous crack of her nose breaking, but she ignored the pain as the dragon crashed to the ground, dead."

Beat that, kids!

Broken Nose

5 days into this saga, and the doctor still won't take a look until at least a week has passed and the swelling has gone down. The trouble is, not having experienced this before - I didn't play rugby as a young girl - I'm not sure what to expect. Particularly if, when he 'tweaks' it back into place - just like that - the bruising will start all over again.

It's embarrassing enough as it is. I endured a barrage of laughter and mockery at church last night - the word 'silly' cropped up rather too frequently for my liking.

Until one lovely girl said, 'Well, at least it makes a good story!'

I'm in my fifties - not that I feel like that, obviously - and broke it surfing. A wave tipped me off my surfboard and the board floated away. The next wave came crashing in on the heels of the first, so the surfboard came barrelling back in.

I tried to grab it, and missed. It caught me squarely on the nose. Instant break, lots of blood, quick trip to Accident and Emergency, avoiding the smirks of the medical staff on the way.

Now I look like a sunburnt spectacled bear.