My nose knows naught
From the porch
Dwight Otwell
 | | I am about to write a column about my nose. "How interesting," you are saying to yourself. "Let's skip down the page and see what Ron Mack is writing about." However, you must be warned. It could happen to you. The story begins when basil cell cancer was diagnosed on my nose. Needles wee stuck into my nose and the cancer cut out. The operation was quick and it was a success. However, after I stopped wearing a bandage, my doctor told me it would heal if I put scotch tape over my nose every night and removed it in the morning. He said he didn't know how it worked but it worked. Figuring I had nothing to lose, I did that for a few weeks. Early one morning, I was called into Murphy and I forgot to remove the tape. I arrived in town and saw a Murphy policeman with whom I wanted to talk. I remembered the tape on my nose just in time. I quickly removed it. Can you imagine being arrested for displaying a taped nose in public? The charge might have been trying to incite hilarity to the detriment of the public. Later, my doctor again caused me to wonder. He said he could do cosmetic surgery on my nose to make it smooth and look better but it would cost $150. He said I could save money if I sandpapered my nose myself. I asked him how I would do it. He said I should use sandpaper on my nose once a week for three months. Each time I sandpapered my nose, I should do so until it started to bleed a little. I admit that I was a little shocked. "Do you mean I should use very fine sandpaper?" I queried. No. He wanted me to use the rough stuff. I shivered. I considered his suggestion but I couldn't bring myself to torture myself like that. Everyone I talked to about the plan thought it a little weird. Finally, Susan gave me $150 and told me to have him do the nose job. Again, I had shots in the nose and he quickly fixed my nose. I looked around the office to see what kind of diploma he had. Could he be a witch doctor from the University of Wicheta? There were clues that spurred this thinking. His nurse wearing a bone through her nose was one. A big black kettle in the corner with steam boiling out of it was another. I escaped from the "doctor's" office. After wearing a bandage for the rest of that day, I began wearing a bandaid over my nose for the next week. Seeing the bandaid, people joked about my nose everywhere I went. Some said that's what a journalist gets for sticking his nose into other people's business. Many acted shocked that my sweet Susan had apparently bopped me on the nose. My standard comeback became, "I didn't say 'yes dear' fast enough". Anyway, my nose is getting better. It is still red but it will be okay. I just hope that if I ever need brain surgery, I don't get a physician with so many selfremedy suggestions. |
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