I’m a little under the weather today and feeling a bit sorry for myself. It got me thinking about other times that I’ve felt a little worse for wear, and the first one that came to mind was my recovery from an otoplasty.
An otoplasty is the pinning of the ears—a procedure given to those whose ears stick out a little (or a lot) too far for their liking. As far as I know, it’s almost entirely a cosmetic issue, but it can have a pretty big impact on those who go under the knife. It did for me.
I remember the first time I was bullied for my ears. I’d be running around on the playground at Northwick Manor primary school when I’d hear “hey, Dumbo, nice ears!” shouted by someone nearby. As soon as someone said it, others had to join in—or at least laugh.
It might seem small—and it is, in the grand scheme of things—but I remember feeling so self-conscious. I was a shy kid, but I’d started to make friends, and I wanted to to keep it that way. Every time someone bullied me for my ears, it felt as though that might slip away. I wasn’t old enough yet to understand that this too would likely pass.
Fast forward a little, and I was scheduled for my procedure, although I didn’t really know much about it. I just knew that it was supposed to stop the bullying. The hospital staff would talk to me about my “bat ears,” which—whilst I had learned was an informal medical term—didn’t feel much better than the bullying, only this time from adults.
Following the surgery, your head has to be wrapped up in bandage like Mr. Bump, covering both ears completely and making it look as though you’re getting ready for a Halloween costume party. Fortunately, you stay at home whilst recovering—I think that my new headwear might have got me more name-calling than my ears had.
I’ll skip the gory details that make up the healing process, suffice to say that it wasn’t very fun, and was made only slightly better by video games and an almost-unlimited candy supply. I don’t remember very much of it anyway, to be honest—just the most disgusting bits.
The thing that I thought would stand out in my memory that absolutely doesn’t, though: how it felt afterwards. How it felt to go back to school, back to the playground, and never hear anything about my ears again. People had forgotten over the summer, I suppose, that they’d bullied me at all; they’d moved on to the next thing.
Some part of me wanted the other children to notice, I think. I almost wanted them to compliment me on my completely average ears—“wow, they’re so ordinarily close to your head.” They did not, and I don’t know what I would have done if they did. Instead, I simply carried on as if nothing had happened, and so did everyone else.
I’ve sometimes wondered in the years since if it was worth it. I’ve wondered whether those kids would have just grown up a little, gained some compassion, and ignored my ears for the rest of time. I’ve wondered whether it was worth the pain and whether it was the right response to bullying; whether I should have worn my ears proudly.
Of course, I can’t know, and I’m thankful to have avoided the years of bullying that might have happened. It’s strange, the things we do to protect ourselves, and how sensitive we are to what people think of us at such a young age. I’m more sensitive now, I think, but I care much less.