Nobody Really Prepares You

“Oh, it’s pretty brutal. When I got mine out, I lost like fifteen pounds.”

“Oh, yea… It’s supposed to hurt a lot. You get to eat lots of ice cream though! Yay!”

I had my tonsils removed a week and a half ago. This surgery has been something that I have been waiting for like Christmas. You see, my snoring is… Bad.

Evidence (Recorded November 30th):

You can imagine how thrilled I was when I walked into my ENT’s office last fall, complaining of more than a dozen cases of strep (or strep-like tonsillitis) within a year and he took one look and said, “Yep. Looks like these need to come out.” I had prepared myself with notes and a speech and I was even ready to break out the I-just-got-pulled-over-for-speeding tears… And he just… Agreed with me. It was awesome.

I couldn’t have the surgery last fall though… I was in a financial crisis and had just moved home with my parents. I knew there was no way I could meet my deductible. So, the plan was to wait for my tax return and schedule surgery then…

But… My brother and sister in law surprised me at Christmas. At first, I was offended when the only gift from them was a box containing hand sanitizer, cough drops and Breathe Right strips. “We’ve heard you’ve been really sick this year!” Hardy har har, bro. But then, as we were opening our stockings, a card from them with a check that would cover my deductible. Blessings, y’all. Like sparkly Baby-Jesus blessings.

So, I scheduled it. Woot!

Then Colin’s mom got sick… And the idea of being out of commission and unable to support him was not something I was comfortable with… I also wasn’t too keen on the idea of NEEDING my boyfriend and putting him in the position to have to choose who’s bedside he was going to be by…

So I rescheduled.

And finally… A week and a half ago… I did it. I was more nervous about getting an IV than anything else, but I did it. Rocked it like a champ. The surgeon said that my tonsils were “impressively huge.” (That’s what she said.)

My mom was hilarious. I was sitting in the chair, ice pack on my neck, a little loopy from the anesthesia still and sucking on grape ice pops and she’s talking tattoos with some Murse.

“Can we get the hell out of here?” I must’ve asked a dozen times before we finally left. Then, it began. Six days of whimpering, barely able to swallow, don’t even leave the bed pain. It was almost too much to even swallow my medication. I’d have to set my alarm for a 4am wake up to take more pain medication, otherwise I’d wake up whimpering at 7am, almost unable to breathe from the pain.

And then, on the seventh day, the lord rested. Or, I went into work! And I did… I mean, it was only like three hours, but I did it. And I was proud and felt tough.

And then Friday morning, it happened. Total, absolute melt down complete with hysterical sobbing, pacing and arm rubbing. I was in so much pain that I was delirious and unable to even consider taking more pain medication. And when I finally got around to it, I realized that I only had about three more doses of liquid percocet.

So I panicked.

I called the doctor and was told, almost with a chuckle, “Oh yea, it’s totally normal that your pain has spiked. It means your scabs are coming off!” Uhhh… This information would have been REALLY useful had you told me ahead of time rather than waiting until I was doubled over with more pain than I’ve ever felt in my life… And I gave birth, unmedicated. DAMMIT.

The boyfriend came and rescued me… Or maybe he actually rescued my mother because I was NOT being a good patient for her. He whisked me away, all the way across town, because that’s where my doctor was last Friday. In order to get my refill, we had to go to him. On a Friday. After we picked up the kid from school… at 3pm. IN ATLANTA TRAFFIC. Really, we missed most of the traffic, but it was a lot of driving. But we made it.

And now, I’m not quite better yet. I’ve still got some scabs on the left side. The right side is almost all the way healed. It still hurts to swallow. And I am hoping the pain is gone before all the rest of my percocet is gone.

And contrary to what everybody tells you, it’s NOT a good idea to eat ice cream. It just makes your mouth all phlegmy and full of too much spit. It actually makes it WORSE.

My advice: lots of Jello. Fruit sorbet. And, for God’s sake, don’t try to get up and move around. Rest, dammit.