Nose Bumps

We never stop growing.  Oh, I know.  Supposedly, the physical part stops, and we just enjoy a growth in wisdom as we mature.  Ha!  Anyone my age knows better.  Physical matter continues to attach itself to our persons, and I’m not even talking about cellulite (a euphemism for grotesque fat bunches).  Young people do not sprout forests of bristles in their nostrils and ears.  That is reserved for old folks, who also grow odd curly hairs out of the tops of their noses.   And then there are – growths. 

Bumps on noses run in our family, so when my husband sprouted one, we were not surprised.  I left it unmentioned for years, until it commenced to get larger.  I watched it bear offspring next to the parent bump, and, fearing that the situation might increase to the point where he could not see out of one eye, I decided to delicately broach the subject. 

“Paul, if you don’t do something about that bump, pretty soon you’ll have to get a periscope to see over the top of it!” 

He mentioned it to his doctor, who was not overly concerned (but then we’ve had a history of finding him to be not overly competent, either).  “Nothing to worry about, my man.  Just buy yourself a tube of acne cream. Smear it on twice a day.  A little dab’ll do ya.”

I was appalled with the physicianal advice.  “He’s got to be kidding!  It is NOT a zit!  Zits do not grow to the size of garbanzo beans and then start families!” 

The doctor won, temporarily.  The tube of acne cream was duly purchased and applied, without even miniscule results.  Meanwhile, I had desires to do my own little surgical procedures.  “Paul, I know how to fix it.  It’s a cyst for sure.  I’ll just sterilize a needle, poke it, and you can squeeze the gook out of it and be done with it.” 

garbanzo beans

garbanzo beans

Hubby gazed at me in horror.  “No, you’re not!  It’s my nose, and if I like it with a bump the size of a garbanzo bean, it’s gonna stay that way!”

I think he had visions of me thrusting a darning needle three inches long into his snoot – right up to the eye of the thing.  He probably imagined me grinning wickedly and enjoying his excruciating pain in some demented fashion.  I pleaded, nagged, and wheedled, explaining that I was thinking of a minor prick that would barely break the skin and wouldn’t even bleed – much.   He remained steadfast: it was his nose, and he’d grow whole gardens of things on it if he wanted to. 

He pointed out other people who had bumps on their noses – in pictures, on the Internet, walking down the street, and especially at family reunions.  I was not impressed.  When I married him it was for better or for worse, in sickness or in health, with or without excess appendages, but why sport an unsightly bump that precluded seeing out of one eye if one didn’t have to?

“It gives me character – a certain uniqueness.” 

“It’s not unique.  It’s a shared family heirloom.” 

“Family heirlooms were meant to be cherished.” 

I gave up and forgot about it.  You look at a garbanzo bean on a nose long enough and you don’t notice it anymore.  However, ideas had been germinating in Paul’s brain.  Sweet thingie!  He wanted to please his wife.  Without telling a soul, he tried the needle-aspiration-and-squeeze procedure, and achieved nothing.  Not being daunted by small setbacks, he decided on a more drastic surgical approach.  We are still trying to recover. 

I happened upon him immediately after he had showered one evening.  “Paul!  Why is your nose bump bleeding all over the place?” 

Somberly, he pointed to a large block of pumice stone on the edge of the tub.  “The doc said if I went to a dermatologist they would shave it off.  I thought I’d save a few bucks and do it myself.” 

Pumice stone.  At least he hadn’t decided to do the shaving with his razor.  That might have required a visit to the emergency room and a little plastic surgery to boot.  I have not had good experiences with emergency rooms.  Whether we were there for the kids or my husband, the doctors have usually insinuated that I was somehow the nasty culprit that caused all the damage.  I must look sinister.  I suppose, in a sense, this time it would have been true, since I was the one who had made such a stink about removing the garbanzo bean in the first place. 

We managed to get the bleeding stopped without a need for a transfusion, but for several days it continued to bleed with each face wash.  Men do not understand about washing owies gently.  This is why children always want Mommy to deal with wounds, not Daddy. 

After sporting the largest bandage Curad makes for several days, Paul now has the injury under control.  We have a beautiful scab on top of the undiminished garbanzo-sized growth.

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