It was determined that Maisey should have her tonsils removed. Apparently they were huge and inhibiting her sleep. And possibly the sleep of others. Plus they housed strep the week before so we were already sorta mad at them.
Still though, any procedure or anesthia on my babies makes me uneasy. Braden gave her a blessing to comfort her (me).
Since we have done this with Lila at the same age, I thought I was prepared for this experience.
Not exactly.
With Braden being gone all week at training, my first problem was that I had no child care. Everyone I felt comfortable asking was unavailable to come over at 5 am. So I did what scared me a little bit and left 9 year old Anabelle in charge. She had strict instructions to message me on Facebook and give me updates regularly. Which she did. Until she got caught up in a show and forgot. Overall, she did great and all was well when I returned home. It's not the first prayer I have offered in gratitude for a capable and responsible and all around wonderful first child.
The surgery went well but WOW, Maisey was all sorts of crazy when she woke up. The Dr. told me that he removed her adenoids as well because they were so big that they were blocking 90% of her airway. Once he opened that airway up, she used it. Whew, the screaming. I could hear her before I could see her. The next two weeks was more of the same, in varying degrees of intensity. Every night for the last two weeks, she would come in my room crying that she was in pain. I would then offer her medicine,which she would decline (by whining/crying/sulking/screaming). After a few minutes my concern turned to compassion, which gave way to frustration, which quickly turned into annoyance mixed with a little bit of 3 am rage- the most special kind. Eventually she would fall asleep in my bed, breathing breath like that of one hundred rotting, steamy, swamp animals who had just eaten their last meal of squirrels, which had been in the rigor mortis stage of existence. I blame my exposure to this positively toxic gas for my recent acne breakout. And then one night, in the middle of one of these dreadful conversations, I asked her to show me her tonsils. She had been throwing up the night before and I wondered if the scab had fallen off too soon. She opened the death trap to reveal utter and complete whiteness. Thrush of the oral variety. I felt awful for her (and for me-remember I'm the one inhaling the evidence). All her wailing made (more) sense. I felt so bad for her. I started missing her tonsils. Her doctor wouldn't get back to me for over two days and I finally had to call and go all Mama Bear on his secretary. By the time I finally picked up her prescription we were all miserable. Made me want to punch that guy in his ear, nose, and throat next time I see him. Except that now she had a gross medicine that she had to swish four times a day. I even spent an entire morning chasing pharmacies that would compound a pain relieving sucker for her that my insurance would not cover. She also refused to use it. A sucker covered in some kind of magical narcotic that makes all the pain go away. I'm keeping it for myself in case I ever have another child in need of a tonsilectomy. Forcing Maisey to either take medicine, or live with her in pain, are equally daunting tasks. Since I survived them both I feel like some kind of hero. Just kidding. I feel tired and pudgy because I obviously needed candy bars to see me through.
Poor Maisey had a very rough tonsilectomy experience.
Now we're three weeks post surgery and things are better. I am delighted to see her smile return. I missed the joy she adds to my days. Here's to a life free of tonsils/adneoids/snoring, and restless-sleep for Maisey.
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| Pre-op |
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| post-op |
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