The days following my last entry went by in a blur
of pain and drowsiness. Day three was fairly painful throughout, but nothing
prepared me for days four, five, six, or seven. Each morning, the pain was
progressively worse. It felt as if scalding hot knives pierced the back of my
throat whenever I attempted to open my mouth. I learned quickly that Chicken
cream soup was my best friend; any attempt to consume anything solid (or
semi-solid) was greeted with vociferous contempt. I was not about to challenge
my throat because I was hungry. I was much more interested in keeping myself
sane by staving off the pain, than by eating what I pleased.
Interestingly enough, I grew to dislike ice cream. The thing about dairies is that these thicken your
saliva, which makes it harder to swallow, and when you have a uvula the size of
a pomegranate, you kind of want to avoid that! Popsicles are a much safer
alternative to ice cream, they are far more refreshing, also. The only reason I
would eat ice cream was because I needed something to mix my bitter oxycodone
with. Other than that, mashed potatoes proved to be great allies in my time of
hunger. Though avoid putting anything in them, by that I mean bacon in
particular. I’m guilty of not learning to respect my throat’s wishes for
complete softness, and trying to consume all kinds of solids while I recovered—I
am a stubborn person, as you can read.
Needless to say, I couldn’t speak for much of my
convalescence. That wasn’t too bad, I tend to be a quiet person, in general. It
was still very frustrating when no one understands your miming; soon, though,
those skills improve, making you the envy of the town mime’s, (take that PePe!)
At the end of the day 7 though, I thought I had
everything figured out. I thought “things can’t get worse now!” Boy, was I
wrong. Nothing. NOTHING. ABSOLUTELY
NOTHING learned, done, developed, acquired, expanded-on, (insert whatever verb
you wish to describe what you would do to prepare for a week-long painfest), or
otherwise transpired in the last week could prepare me for the Hell that was
Day 8. Never before in my life had I been woken up by pain. I didn’t just
happen to open my eyes, and gradually (and comically) realize that my throat
was on fire. No. The sensation that my throat was on FIRE forced me awake. I
can only imagine what sort of dream I must have had prior to that rude
awakening (probably something about a ghost chili). Whatever was going through
my mind as I crossed the border between somnolence and consciousness, I can’t
remember. All I know is that at six in the morning, my first action was to jump
out of my bed, a-la-recipient-of-ice-water-bucket and silently scream my way
into the kitchen.
Just as a reminder, this was Day 8: Tuesday, April
the sixth. Yesterday. I am never forgetting this date. Never. I didn’t wait to
cook scrambled eggs or pudding cups. No, I immediately crushed that oxy with a meat
tenderizer, sprinkled that narcotic powder over my ice cream and dove head first
into that poppy-flavored, frosted cream. Because I did not eat before I took
that pill, I was promptly knocked out. Thank the gods for this! I couldn’t
stand the pain. Throughout the day, I was religiously counting on my next painkiller.
By midnight, my mind had renounced any hope that things would ever be fine. I
was ready to admit that the pain was much more than I bargained for. It’s only
natural that I was overjoyed when I woke up this morning feeling MUCH
better than I had all week.
Today, I only took one painkiller (in the
morning). I have decided that I will not be necessitating oxy’s help tonight.
My throat was a lot more compliant today, but still, I did not want to push my
luck. Not when even tomato cream soup made me feel like screaming. I went back
to my cream of chicken soup, though I did have some sausages on the side. I
think even my ailing throat recognizes that it is time to try something solid,
even if it was something small. I am confident that in the next couple of days
I’ll be able to eat some pasta, maybe even rice. I’m not chancing toast (yet),
but I might test my luck with cereal in the morning.
Bottom line: It’s been one hell of a week. Despite
the pain, I don’t regret undergoing the procedure. I was very ill.
One thing, though: I think people really
underestimate this surgery. I guess it’s because it is often associated with a
children’s procedure, they think that it can’t be that bad. Well, let me tell
you now, the only reason why children have it easier, is because they don’t go
through as much pain as adults do. Children can heal faster, adults don’t count
with the same speed of healing. So, next time your adult brother or sister, or
father or mother, or other relative or friend—hell, a stranger!—comes up to
you, and tells you they are getting a tonsillectomy, adenoidectomy (and in some
cases, uvulectomy/uvuloplasty), please—be kind and considerate! The amount of
pain they are about to feel might just scar them.
If you are thinking of undergoing any one (or all)
of these procedures, just remember that while it may be painful (Oh…It Will Be)
it is worth it. Nothing good comes without fighting hard for it; even if it
means, spending a whole week with hell-wrought pain.
