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If you want to know how it all began, click HERE for the FIRST entry. At the top of each post you can click "NEXT ENTRY" and so on. It might make a bit more sense that way, and you might stumble upon one of my better postings in case this one sorta just sucks! CLICK HERE for a RANDOM ENTRY. Monday, Dec. 19, 2005 - 11:02 P.M. Ectomy Q1: What is that horrible thing pictured above? Answer: My daughter's throat. Q2: Why is there a tree trunk dangling in the back of it? Answer: That isn't a tree trunk, it is her uvula. Q3: What the fuck? Answer: indeed. I tried not to dwell on all the things that could have gone wrong today, but last night I found myself having a very bad feeling about today's schedule, long-awaited tonsillectomy. There is no such thing as "just" when describing any procedure that involves anesthetic. So "just a tonsillectomy" was not a phrase I could embrace. As worried as I was at midnight when I finally closed my eyes, I was no less at 4:30 A.M. when I got up to prepare my daughter for her day. If all went as planned, we were to arrive at 5:30, be in pre-op by 6:30, surgery would begin at 7, the procedure would take approximately 15 minutes, but the operating room was reserved for 40 minutes to allow for prep and unforeseen thingies... Since we were the first surgery scheduled for the day, I got a little anxious watching those who had come in after me get called back to be with their loved ones in recovery. I tried drinking a cup of free mud, laughingly labeled "coffee" and ate my way through a basket of free snacks (Lorna Doones, Rice Krispie treats, apples, graham crackers....). I went for a walk (they'd given me a pager so I'd know when she was done). Finally I just sat down and waited. The receptionist would get a call and tell a family the status of their loved one...and I got no call. But my stomach flipped when I saw a short, balding physician come through the door and called my name. He motioned me to follow him to a private conference room, and the only thing that kept me from vomiting was that my heart was in my throat blocking such an event. Once the door was closed, he said what he should have first, "You're daughter is fine." Asshole. He then asked me how long she'd been suffering with her tonsils. I'd only been fighting for years to get them out, and just this past spring was told that the weren't all that impressive. His eyebrows shot up at that, and he asked me to relay to that physician that in all his years as an ENT surgeon, this case was the #1 worst case he'd EVER seen. He said that he could not touch them without them bleeding, and that removal was hampered by them disintegrating. Because of their advanced stage of ROT, he'd had to do extensive cutting. Her adenoids were completely filled with infected matter. Hell, I want to vomit just remembering his expression as he described it. In fact, that's just what she was doing when I finally got to go to her in recovery. It took 5 doses of different anti-nausea medications to finally get her to stop. She's in for a very hard 2 weeks of recovery. During the next 7 days we have to be very diligent about new bleeding, which he feels is a distinct possibility. I have trays of Gatoraide ice cubes made, several boxes of Popsicles hardened, jars of pureed baby food fruit chilled, and mashed potatoes ready to be nuked. It's been a long day, almost as long as her uvula (what the hell did they do, take turns swinging on it like Tarzan????). Won't you PLEASE leave your feedback here? 2 readers left their mark on this one!
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