The Nostril That Never Worked, and the Morning She Stopped Noticing It
For as long as Revati could remember, her left nostril simply didn’t work. Not completely, not reliably. Since childhood, one side of her nose had remained partly blocked — something she had quietly adapted to the way you adapt to a flickering light in a room you spend enough time in. You stop noticing. You breathe around it. It becomes part of the background of daily life, unremarkable only because it has always been there.
“One side of my nose was always blocked since childhood. Now I am able to breathe. I can feel it. I can feel the other nostril taking the air and releasing it.”
What makes that sentence so striking is the word feel. Not just breathe — feel. A sensation she had never had before. For decades, one half of her nose had been silent, and she had simply learned to live in that half-breath without ever quite knowing what she was missing.
She also arrived that morning carrying something heavier than a blocked nose. Revati had been thinking about rhinoplasty and breast augmentation for some time, but thinking and deciding are very different things. She had done her research, compared her options, and come to her appointment at seven in the morning carrying considerable doubt — the kind that doesn’t go away just because you’ve scheduled the procedure. The fears were real, the skepticism was present, and so was she: walking through the door before sunrise, not entirely sure she was ready.
What happened next was something she would later describe as barely happening at all.
“I didn’t even realize that I was taken to surgery and I came out and everything is done.”
Both procedures — rhinoplasty and breast augmentation — were performed in the same session. She arrived at 7am. By the time the story picks up again, she was preparing to go home.
Lifting Her Arms, Breathing Through Her Nose, Ready to Leave
The version of Revati who sat speaking after her surgery was notably different from the one who had arrived that morning. Not in any dramatic, difficult-to-articulate way. Just — lighter.
She could breathe through both nostrils. That alone was not a small thing. A sensation that most people take entirely for granted, that Revati had never once experienced on the left side of her face, was simply there now. Present. Real. Functional breathing improvement, felt on the same day as surgery.
The breast augmentation had been performed in the same session, and when asked directly about pain at the surgical site, her answer was immediate: none. When asked about discomfort when lifting her arms, her answer was equally immediate:
“Nothing at all.”
The one thing she did mention — almost apologetically — was that her voice had gone dry. She hadn’t had any water all day, and the dryness was noticeable. That was the entirety of her complaint.
What she spoke about more readily was how little the process had felt like what she had feared. Even the IV line, a detail that might seem minor in the context of two surgical procedures, had registered for her as significant. A small local anaesthetic had been applied before the IV was inserted, rendering the needle painless. For someone who had approached the day with considerable apprehension, it mattered.
“I was asking the doctor have you put it and he said yes.”
She hadn’t felt it go in. She had to ask whether it had happened yet. And somewhere in that small exchange — in the gap between bracing herself and realising it was already done — the texture of the whole day began to shift.
How a Face in a Search Result Became the Doctor She Trusted
Revati had not arrived at this decision quickly. She had researched multiple surgeons, compared approaches, and considered her options carefully before making any commitment. At some point during that process, something shifted.
“Her face stood out as if you know, someone who I can trust and go to and talk to.”
It is an honest kind of reason. Not the most clinical, not the most measurable — but real. Among the doctors she had looked at, Dr. Anjali Saple’s face communicated something to her. The sense that a conversation was possible. That questions would be answered. That she would not feel alone in the room.
That instinct was tested in the consultation itself. Revati had come in with real reservations — not the ordinary nerves that most people feel before a procedure, but a deeper skepticism, a genuine uncertainty about whether she was making the right choice at all.
“Even I came with a lot of skepticism, doubts and fear. But then the way you spoke to me and explained things — you are not someone…”
The sentence trails off, but the meaning holds. Dr. Saple is not someone who rushes past the doubts. She explained the rhinoplasty — a procedure designed to address Revati’s unilateral nasal obstruction that had been present since childhood — and the breast augmentation clearly and thoroughly, until the fear had somewhere to go. That pre-operative communication didn’t eliminate Revati’s anxiety entirely, but it gave her enough ground to stand on. She proceeded.
On the morning of surgery, both procedures were carried out in a single session. The IV was placed with local anaesthesia, the rhinoplasty and breast augmentation were performed together, and Revati moved through the morning in a kind of quiet unawareness — present, but untroubled by the magnitude of what was happening. Same-day discharge was always the plan, and by evening, she was ready.
What continued after she left was equally considered. Dr. Saple sends messages at day one, week one, and day ten after surgery — not general check-ins, but specific guidance: which cream to use, which medications to take, and at what times.
“Even when I go home she is messaging me. After a day she is messaging me. She is telling me exactly which cream to use, what meds I should take and at what time. She checks on me after a week and after 10 days.”
For Revati, this mattered. The surgery was one morning. The recovery was the days that followed. Knowing that someone specific, someone who had been in the room with her, would be reaching out at predictable intervals with precise instructions — that continuity was part of what made the whole experience feel safe rather than abandoned.
She left Divyam Cosmetic and Plastic Surgery breathing through both nostrils for the first time in her life. It was, by any measure, a good day.