Plastic Surgery Gave Me Peace, As Told By A Surgeon

I mostly remember growing up as an only child who wanted to fit in - but struggled to do so.

As a five-year-old immigrant who didn’t know English, I felt like an outcast. Even after learning the language, my confidence lagged. I’ll never forget being asked to read aloud in 6th-grade history class. I mispronounced the word "chaos," and the room burst into laughter. I ran to the bathroom in tears, because that moment confirmed what I already felt inside: I didn’t belong. My self-esteem shrank even more as I began to notice features about myself I didn’t particularly like: my unusually tall height for grade school, a gap in my teeth, and a birthmark on my arm that I was born with. Picking at these things became my way of coping with the struggle to fit in.

By high school, my insecurities took up more space in my head. On the outside, I was the straight-A top student in my class—polite and predictable. But inside, I was consumed by self-doubt, wearing long sleeves in the summer, avoiding cameras, and never participating in the things girls my age typically did. I also developed an intense distaste for my then fully grown nose, which had a distinct bump on the bridge. I felt more comfortable keeping to myself, wearing a band-aid on my arm and ripping up any photos of myself, all while secretly wondering what it would be like to have the confidence of one of the “beautiful” girls. Looking back, it’s hard to believe that was me.

A bit shy, a bit awkward, and my nose bump always got sunburned. I’d never turn my head for photos.

In college, I saved enough money to visit a dermatologist in Manhattan about the birthmark on my arm—a mark that had haunted me for years, symbolizing my struggle with feeling “different”. The dermatologist explained it couldn’t be lasered off and would need to be surgically cut out. I didn’t hesitate; finally, I had a chance to take control and be rid of it. I underwent the procedure, thrilled at the thought of wearing short sleeves without hesitation. However, as luck would have it, healing didn’t go as planned. The sutures failed multiple times due to the mark’s location, leading to a few revisions. The birthmark was replaced by a wide, hypertrophic scar—smaller but still visible. Still, after nearly two years of setbacks in healing, I finally wore a tank top to the beach, free from the mental burden that mark had carried for me.

To my surgeon, it was just another complication. To me, it was a milestone. The mark was gone, along with a piece of the painful past it represented. Today, decades later, the scar is flatter, barely noticeable, and most importantly, I’m still happy.

Once I tackled one insecurity, I felt emboldened to address another. In graduate school, I finally gathered the courage to ask my parents about getting a nose job. My father laughed, insisting I "didn’t qualify," seeing me as flawless. My mother was firmly against it: “No surgery.” With no one else to turn to, I confided in my best friend from high school, Tara, who was also in medical school. We’d often shared our dislike for our noses, but to my surprise, she had already scheduled her rhinoplasty with a surgeon hours away. I was shocked—jealous, even—but mostly curious. This was before Instagram or sleek websites made these procedures accessible, and surgery wasn’t something you discussed freely. Tara became my only source of insight.

I decided to wait and see how her surgery turned out. When I finally saw her, I was stunned. She looked incredible. Honestly, I couldn’t even tell she’d had a nose job, but something about her appearance was softer and prettier than before. (This was long before I had the trained eye to analyze every nasal millimeter.) Tara happily explained, “He called it a… refinement.”

A refinement, a nose job, whatever it was—I wanted it. This wasn’t about the kids who’d teased me in school for my English, or the classmates staring at my bandaged arm while taunting me with questions. This was for me. For the first time, I wanted the outside to reflect how I was beginning to feel on the inside: stronger, more confident. I wanted to shed the distraction of a nose I believed was too dominant. I wanted my face to appear softer, prettier—beautiful.

When my parents realized my reasons were deeply personal, their perspective shifted. They began to understand and support me, recognizing that this change could bolster the confidence I needed for the long, demanding road ahead as a woman in medicine. To them, it was a small adjustment; to me, it was monumental. The idea of seeing a face in the mirror that nature hadn’t given me was surreal. Eventually, we booked a rhinoplasty with Tara’s former surgeon.

I woke up the day before Christmas with a cast on my nose, a sore throat, swollen eyes, and no sense of taste due to congestion—a memory so vivid it feels like yesterday. Exactly seven days later, we drove to Connecticut to have my cast removed. Sadly, there were no smartphones to capture my reaction during the nose reveal. Even swollen, seeing the feature I’d loathed – and now gone - in the mirror, is a moment deeply etched in my memory. I felt like a new woman.

About 1 year after my surgery. Taking photos became effortless, from any angle.

In 2007, without Instagram or TikTok to document my transformation, I resorted to the next best thing: admiring my reflection at every opportunity. I felt like I was reclaiming a joy I’d been denied in my younger years. And I got to thinking—when someone told me, “You don’t need a nose job,” they weren’t wrong. The surgery didn’t save my life or rewrite my destiny—I would have carried on, capable and whole. But not every milestone is measured in life or death. Both my arm and my nose represented deeply personal battles with self-perception. It wasn’t just about vanity; it was about feeling at peace with the person I saw in the mirror.

It’s been almost 20 years since my surgery. Recently, I glanced at my wedding photos—most taken in profile—and couldn’t help but smile at my nose, imperfectly perfect in my eyes, that reshaped more than just my face. I never imagined that one day I’d be reshaping someone else’s. Each time I help a patient express their insecurities, I’m reminded of the weight of those emotions and wonder just how deeply they run. In my operating room, my team knows I approach every moment as if it were me on the table. My focus is always on helping patients take the metaphorical band-aid off and let go of whatever holds them back, no matter how small.

On my wedding day, I focused on family, my new life partner, and the contentment of my soul. Sure, I had a few picky moments about my looks, but without a drop of doubt, I was truly and fully at peace with myself.

Thank you for reading my story.

xo, Renata