When given this column, my intention was to use the space to
inform others of important things like the dangers of smoking, the
need to recycle and, of course, how to cure Valentine-phobics for
life. I wanted to leave myself out of my writing as much as
possible and focus on the things that are really significant.
When given this column, my intention was to use the space to inform others of important things like the dangers of smoking, the need to recycle and, of course, how to cure Valentine-phobics for life. I wanted to leave myself out of my writing as much as possible and focus on the things that are really significant.
But in this week’s column, things are about to change. The basis of my subject is me, all me. I figure you’re all getting pretty tired of reading about things of real value, so I’m giving you a break to read about something that isn’t.
As I write this, it is the night before my surgery. Oh, don’t worry – it’s nothing serious. I’m just having a tonsillectomy. You know, the doctor’s just going to go in there and laser off part of my throat so that I can’t swallow or eat solid foods for about 14 days. Apparently the whole thing only takes about 10 minutes.
Amazing isn’t it, the wonders of technology. In just 10 minutes, my eating and swallowing habits will be dramatically changed for two weeks.
Well, I’ve had strep throat six times this year and at least two sore throats a month, but honestly, I was growing quite fond of having pain every time I swallow, which is a good thing since I’ll be having a lot more of it very soon. So I guess the doctors finally decided to end all the sore throat madness. Which really upsets me because I was on a roll here and was hoping to win my place in the Guinness Book of World Records.
Actually, the specialist took one look at my throat and told me I had “nasty, ugly tonsils” and they had to come out. (My tonsils are still reeling from the tremendous insult, by the way. I’d try to reassure the poor fellas, but what’s the use? They won’t be around much longer anyway.)
Apparently, instead of acting like a filter, my tonsils have actually become a feeding ground for bacteria, due to all the scar tissue from my impressive history of sore throats. And there’s more. Several pus pockets have been created, and whenever I feel tired, run down, or stressed they fill up with bacteria and wham! I have a sore throat. Pus pockets filled with bacteria: sounds appetizing, doesn’t it? I’d like to take this time to apologize to every guy I’ve ever dated. Well, maybe not every guy …
Actually, during the fall, one rather sweet, rather cute boy finally just gave up on me because I was always tired and sick and never wanted to do anything. I think the whole sleeping for 14 hours everyday and constantly having a sore throat was kind of a turn-off. It didn’t do much for my love life, that’s for sure.
I tried to talk the doctor out of the surgery by saying things like “I think all those sore throats were just a figment of my imagination.” “Sore throat? Excuse me, but I haven’t the faintest clue what you’re talking about. I’ve never had one in my life!” But I guess I couldn’t slip one past a guy who’s gone to medical school longer than I’ve been alive.
Luckily, my doctor has a great since of humor; he almost makes you forget that he’s at the helm of the two-week nightmare you’re about to endure. After informing me of all the risks, letting me know that Jell-O would become my new best friend and that I would have the most horrible breath of my young life, I was more than hesitant about agreeing to the surgery. It seemed as though the doctor had insight into my soul when, within minutes, he added, “Well, you’ll lose about five or 10 pounds.” My response? “I’m in! Where shall I sign?”
During my pre-op appointment, the doc said, “Let’s check and see if your tonsils walked out last night, then you won’t need surgery.” But just my luck – they hadn’t. They had packed their bags and had their Greyhound ticket in hand, mind you, but at the last minute they decided to stick around. I think they’re actually quite fond of me, although they certainly have a funny way of showing it.
My doctor, let’s just call him Doctor Z for the sake of not ruining his impeccable reputation, told me the pain will gradually decrease starting with the first day and then around day seven the pain will suddenly become worse than ever before. This happens because the scabs where my loyal tonsils had been will start to dissolve and the back of my throat becomes raw. He asked me not to cough or clear my throat because it could start a blood clot.
Hmmm … no problem. I mean, when do you need to cough or clear your throat? Well, if I happen to inhale some sort of airborne particle I guess I can choose just how I’d like to leave this world. Choking to death because I can’t cough, or bleeding to death from a blood clot. Decisions, decisions …
Ohhhh and there’s more. The seventh day just happens to be, guess? My 18th birthday. And what better way to celebrate than having the worst, most hideously painful sore throat of my life? Honestly, I can’t think of anything more enjoyable. Who wants a huge bonfire party on the beach? Not me. There’s no fun in that. It would be far better to celebrate this occasion in bed, with heinously bad breath, and all alone. (Due to the heinous breath, you see.) Yes, the whole ordeal couldn’t have come at a more convenient time if it had been jotted down in my day planner for months.
To make matters worse, I keep hearing horror stories from people who’ve lost their tonsils in the same treacherous battle. Things like inverted eardrums, infections and, of course, the whole “bleeding out” thing are being told to me everywhere I go. I can’t even grocery shop without being terrified by some stranger. And if you think the blood clot thing is a joke, ask my friend Jill and she’ll give you a whole new perspective.
And then there are the friends who think it’ll help to tell me that the procedure will be done using a machete. And of course making claims on all my belongings, just in case I die, hasn’t been too soothing on my nerves either.
Actually, my friends haven’t been giving me too much sympathy about the whole thing, and believe me, I’ve tried. “Huh. Sucks for you,” has become a very popular phrase in the last few days. Just getting them to remember my tonsillectomy alone is a feat in itself. Five minutes after hearing about it, it’s, “Oh, don’t worry, When I had my wisdom teeth out I was feeling great the next day.”
I told Doctor Z about all the tonsil trauma stories I’d been hearing, hoping he could reassure me and he said, “Just between you and me: get new friends.” I’ll worry about that after I can swallow again. Actually, the surgery sounds very simple. They give me an I.V. and then the anesthesiologist puts a mask over my face and I count to ten. The room starts to spin by the time I get to three and then I’m out. I asked if anyone ever woke up during the surgery and Doctor Z said, “Nope. Wanna be the first?” (Thanks, but I think I’ll pass.) And then 10 minutes later I’m tonsil-less. It’s that simple.
My mom, being an extremely intelligent lady, knows that I’m far too much for one woman to take care of (no matter how spectacular the woman may be) so she’s created a sign-up sheet where my round-the-clock care is broken up into shifts. This way I can be an incredible handful to several people instead of just one. And I’ll have ice cream, pudding, Popsicles, Jell-O, tissues, Chap Stick, magazines, books, movies and all the attention I crave … anytime I want.
Oh, well, I’ve got to go get ready for the Big Day tomorrow, but please visit me while I’m bed-ridden and tonsil-deprived. And don’t forget to bring a gift. A BIG one.
Chrissy Bryant is a senior at Live Oak High School.
