Tonsillectomies compared

I noticed of late that my postings are very serious and somewhat sad in nature. I thought I might change that up a little tonight.

Our daughter and her friend were talking about tonsils tonight. They had been watching an old episode of Little House on the Prairie. In this particular show, Laura had bad tonsils. She had been kept home from school and had a bad fever. This caused the two young ladies in my house to speculate what this evil thing might be. Our daughter only knew that she had her tonsils out a long time ago, but she could neither explain what they were nor why they were pulled.

I explained to them why she had to have them yanked. At the age of 1-1/2, her tonsils had grown to a size that block her throat when she slept. My wife gave them an idea as to where they live in the body. I do not think either of us could have explained their purpose without using Google. Fortunately, our medical expertise ended at the location.

After our talk, I started reminiscing on her day in the hospital. We drove her to the hospital in the morning. At her age, she really didn’t know what was happening. We did the paperwork and headed to the ward. She was in a room much like a doctor’s office. They gave her the happy juice and waited for it to kick in. She was happy. Then they allowed us to walk with her until the doors of the surgery ward. She was asleep by this point.

My wife and I then moved to a waiting room. It had nice furniture and a television. I cannot recall how long we were there, but for some reason I think an hour and a half passed when the doctor came in. He informed us all went well and that she had the largest tonsils for a person her age that he had ever seen. I went back to recovery since only one parent was allowed. Once she started to stir, we were moved to a little room where my wife joined us. We sat with her until they felt she was good to go. We left the hospital around noon. It took us less than four hours from door to door. We even stopped and got her an ice cream on the way home.

By that night, our little patient danced around the living room. She had Popsicle in hand and moved about as if nothing had happened. She gabbed away, well as much as someone her age can gab. I remember being amazed at how quickly the events of the day had gone and how fast she recovered.

Once I had run her

through my mind, I ran the story of mine through my head. Mind you, I don’t really remember much of it. It is one of those things where you have a slight recall, but through hearing your parents or others talk of it so often, their stories become your memories. So hear is a combination of my real memories with the implanted ones.

I remember being in a hospital with a children’s ward. I cannot recall if it was Niagara Falls Memorial or St. Mary’s. I believe it was the first one since I always relate that hospital as being dark and unfriendly. I seem to recall a brownish tint to everything including the air. My parents checked me in the night before. A big sign hung over my bed, “DO NOT FEED.” As a child, I could picture the exact same sign at the zoo in front of the bears.

I am not sure if it was later that night or early in the morning, the lack of food plays with one’s memories, but I know that other parents were in “The Ward.” Come to think of it, my barracks in basic training had a happier feel to them. I looked around and could not find my parents. I became upset thinking the warden wouldn’t let them in. Another mom came to assure me they would be there soon.

When my parents arrived, some guy, some ogre, some monster appeared alongside my bed with a needle that was longer than my arm. Hey – I remember this as a 9 year old. He gave me the happy juice. Only this juice did nothing to make me happy. Apparently, it did not affect me like others. According to the way my dad spoke, it created a monster. A monster who thought he could escape this Cuckoo’s nest.

The rest is my Dad’s version.

Another attendant showed up with a gurney to take me away – this was nothing like Colgan. I have been informed that as they attempted to strap me down, I made a jump for it. I guess the two big guys were expecting a sedated patient. I have been informed that I jumped off the gurney and ran around the ward. I was not going down without a fight.

At some point, they held me down but could not strap me. They attempted to take me out of the room in this fashion. It is difficult to hold a child’s arm, legs, torso, and move a gurney. I won or maybe not. The larger of the two decided to carry me out of the ward and down to surgery. My parents walked with him to the elevator; my legs a flailing. Not knowing defensive modes, the placement of my foot was purely coincidental and though I wish I could say it was planned – it was just luck on my part.

My parents tried to calm me down all the way down the hall. They told me it would be alright. The elevator doors opened. Giant man stepped in with my in a half nelson. He turned and I spied my parents standing on the other side of the metal line on the floor. They were abandoning me!!!!

Once more my feet started having a mind of their own. They would not fail me. My legs sent my feet in all directions making contact with anything within a short distance. I made contact with a large number of buttons. My father told me many a times how he heard me screaming all the way up in the elevator and then down again (the surgery ward was below the children’s ward). He then heard me scream on the way down to the correct floor.

I don’t remember anything after that. For some reason, I do believe they painted the ward and changed the curtains while I was in surgery. While I do not recall the new color, I do know that the brown tinge had vanished. It is amazing the amount of work that can be down in a few hours. I believe I spent a few days in that place before being released.

My recall does not hold much else. I do believe it was near the Christmas break at school because I seem to recall missing the Christmas party in school. Oh yeah. We still had those.

So that is how I spent my afternoon. Comparing our daughter’s tonsillectomy to mine. In the end, I think she had the better experience.