Tonsillectomy
The GF, when she's had caffeine, has complained about the sounds emanating from my side of the bed. A sleep study was had, which resulted in my battling with wires and not sleeping, and an inconclusive diagnosis of "mild sleep apnea" and "mild snoring". The GF begs to differ.
Every medical professional (and many an amateur) who has looked in my mouth and down my throat has commented on the alarming size of my amygdala (tonsils, you tyro), and the current ENT doc was no different. This guy, however, had the courage to stand by his convictions and take arms against a sea of tonsils and, um, well, snip, snip, snip, you know? In the process, he also did an ultrasound turbinate reduction. Lots of pieces of me are now missing, but the theory is that these pieces just got in the way of the air that's supposed to flow in and out of me, so good riddance.
General anaesthesia is good fun. Well, apart from the needle part, because needles, as any sane living being knows, are no fun at all. I'm not down with changes in the topology of my skin, as I casually mentioned to the anaesthesiologist. There was a good amount of ribbing back and forth as I drifted off into dreamland. Do I joke more when nervous? After the unpleasant needle bit, there was no change for twenty seconds or so (I didn't have a watch, so who knows?). Then a tingling, first in my cheeks, jaw, and anus, then sides of the body and legs, then everywhere. I started to feel light-headed; like I was floating just before falling asleep. At this point I was still narrating everything that was happening to me, prompting more jocular exchanges with the doctors who seemed amused at my reactions to the whole process.
I woke up an hour and a bit later, with a sore throat, a woozy head, and a tremendous urge to laugh, cry, hug everybody around me, and go to med school. It's crazy how emotional the general made me. The nurses say it's a fairly common reaction. (I don't know about the med school part. That's probably less so.)
I'm taking steroids (methylprednisolone), antibiotics (azithromycin), and a pain killer (hydrocodone). This last one is a vile concoction which claims to have a fruity flavour. Fruity flavour my arse. This fruit has been through the cloaca magna and back, before being blended into a soothing mixture of kerosene and ammonia water. There's considerable pain when swallowing in the morning eight hours after my last dose of pain killer. A quick shot of that substance later, the swallowing pain is replaced by the memory of the incredible nastiness of the analgesic. It's almost not worth it, except I'd grow hungry without the ability to swallow. Day one: yoghurt, popsicles, mashed potatoes, and egg nog. So contrary to popular belief, I don't get to eat "just ice cream". In fact, I've had none! I will remedy tonight.
What did this have to do with books? Nothing, except that I have not been reading any (been watching crap television instead) and that I have tried to stick some big words in the above blathering.
Every medical professional (and many an amateur) who has looked in my mouth and down my throat has commented on the alarming size of my amygdala (tonsils, you tyro), and the current ENT doc was no different. This guy, however, had the courage to stand by his convictions and take arms against a sea of tonsils and, um, well, snip, snip, snip, you know? In the process, he also did an ultrasound turbinate reduction. Lots of pieces of me are now missing, but the theory is that these pieces just got in the way of the air that's supposed to flow in and out of me, so good riddance.
General anaesthesia is good fun. Well, apart from the needle part, because needles, as any sane living being knows, are no fun at all. I'm not down with changes in the topology of my skin, as I casually mentioned to the anaesthesiologist. There was a good amount of ribbing back and forth as I drifted off into dreamland. Do I joke more when nervous? After the unpleasant needle bit, there was no change for twenty seconds or so (I didn't have a watch, so who knows?). Then a tingling, first in my cheeks, jaw, and anus, then sides of the body and legs, then everywhere. I started to feel light-headed; like I was floating just before falling asleep. At this point I was still narrating everything that was happening to me, prompting more jocular exchanges with the doctors who seemed amused at my reactions to the whole process.
I woke up an hour and a bit later, with a sore throat, a woozy head, and a tremendous urge to laugh, cry, hug everybody around me, and go to med school. It's crazy how emotional the general made me. The nurses say it's a fairly common reaction. (I don't know about the med school part. That's probably less so.)
I'm taking steroids (methylprednisolone), antibiotics (azithromycin), and a pain killer (hydrocodone). This last one is a vile concoction which claims to have a fruity flavour. Fruity flavour my arse. This fruit has been through the cloaca magna and back, before being blended into a soothing mixture of kerosene and ammonia water. There's considerable pain when swallowing in the morning eight hours after my last dose of pain killer. A quick shot of that substance later, the swallowing pain is replaced by the memory of the incredible nastiness of the analgesic. It's almost not worth it, except I'd grow hungry without the ability to swallow. Day one: yoghurt, popsicles, mashed potatoes, and egg nog. So contrary to popular belief, I don't get to eat "just ice cream". In fact, I've had none! I will remedy tonight.
What did this have to do with books? Nothing, except that I have not been reading any (been watching crap television instead) and that I have tried to stick some big words in the above blathering.
posted by alex. at 11/27/2007 05:18:00 PM
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