Tessa Evans, who was born on February 14, 2013, was born without a nose, a rare condition that has sparked admiration and affection from her family and people around the world.
Tessa’s unique condition is known as Bosma Arhinia Microphthalmia Syndrome (BAMS) and there are fewer than 100 documented cases worldwide. Despite the rarity and complexity of her condition, her mother praises Tessa’s “charming” behavior and her “remarkable courage”.
Eight years into her journey, Tessa has become a symbol of resilience. She continues to do well and embrace life to the fullest, despite the challenges presented by her condition, which includes the inability to smell or breathe through her nose.
However, she can still cough, sneeze and catch colds. “It was pretty amusing the first time she sneezed”, recalls her father Nathan, “but we realized it was actually coming from her chest, which was a small but reassuring sign of normality”.
Tessa’s parents, Grainne and Nathan Evans, were stunned when their Valentine’s baby was born without a nose as the pregnancy was uneventful and there were no signs of problems.
A native of Maghera, Ireland, Tessa’s condition required immediate medical intervention. At less than two weeks old, she underwent surgery to insert a tracheostomy tube so she could eat and sleep comfortably.
At just two years old, Tessa achieved a medical milestone when she became the first person to receive a cosmetic nasal implant, marking a significant advance in the field and a remarkable solution to her rare condition.
I Came Home from Vacation to Find a Huge Hole Dug in My Backyard – I Wanted to Call the Cops until I Saw What Was at the Bottom
When I cut short our vacation due to Karen falling ill, the last thing I expected was to find a massive hole in our backyard upon returning home. Initially alarmed, I hesitated when I spotted a shovel inside, leading me into an unexpected adventure involving buried treasure, newfound friendship, and lessons in life’s true values.
Karen and I rushed back from the beach early after she fell ill. Exhausted but wary, I decided to check the house’s perimeter before settling in. That’s when I stumbled upon the gaping pit in our lawn.
“What’s this?” I muttered, approaching cautiously.
At the bottom, amid scattered debris, lay a shovel. My first instinct was to call the police, but then I considered the possibility that the digger might return, knowing we were supposed to be away.
Turning to Karen, who looked unwell, I suggested keeping the car hidden in the garage to maintain the appearance of absence.
As night descended, I kept vigil by a window, watching and waiting. Just as I was about to give up, I spotted a shadow vaulting over our fence.
Heart pounding, I ventured out with my phone ready to call the authorities. Approaching the pit, I heard the clink of metal on earth.
“Hey!” I exclaimed, shining my phone’s light into the hole. “What do you think you’re doing?”
The figure looked up, squinting. My jaw dropped—it was George, the previous owner of our house.
“Frank?” he stammered, equally surprised. “What are you doing here?”
“I live here, remember?” I retorted. “What are you doing in my yard in the middle of the night?”
George climbed out, looking sheepish. “I can explain. Just… please don’t involve the police.”
Arms folded, I demanded an explanation.
“My grandfather owned this place,” George began, “and I recently discovered he hid something valuable here. I thought I’d dig it up while you were away.”
“You broke into my yard to hunt for treasure?” I couldn’t believe it.
“I know how it sounds,” George pleaded, “but it’s true. Help me dig, and we’ll split whatever we find.”
Despite my better judgment, I agreed. Over hours of digging, we shared stories, George revealing his hardships—a lost job and his wife’s illness. His hope for this treasure to change their lives touched me.
As dawn approached, our optimism dwindled with each shovel of dirt revealing nothing but rocks and roots.
“I was so sure…” George’s disappointment was palpable.
Offering a ride home, we filled the pit and drove to his house, where his wife, Margaret, greeted us anxiously.
“George! Where have you been?” Margaret exclaimed, eyeing me curiously.
Explaining the situation, George’s dream of buried treasure was deflated by Margaret’s reality check.
“My grandfather’s tales were just that—stories,” she gently reminded him.
Apologizing, George and Margaret offered to repair our yard. I declined, suggesting they join us for dinner instead.
Driving home, I shared the night’s escapade with Karen, who teased me about my unusual night with a stranger. Reflecting on our conversation, I proposed inviting George and Margaret for dinner—an unexpected outcome from a night of digging for imaginary treasure.
As I assessed the yard in daylight, I realized life’s treasures aren’t always what we seek but the connections we forge along the way.
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