Sam v. Tonsils

Dear Sam,

I finally feel comfortable enough to write about your recent surgery. I was actually a little nervous about it before, in case something really bad happened, or I jinxed it in some way. But, I am pretty sure you will be okay, and I think it will be good to document your difficulties of being a patient.

As you probably know, or will soon find out, your Mama is a freak when it comes to worrying about illnesses, dying, etc. I try very hard to not be dramatic about it, but sometimes I just can't help it. And, I have found that when something is wrong with or happening to your child, it makes things a million times worse. I don't want anything to happen to you and I do not want you to be scared, feel pain. So, leading up to your tonsillectomy, aednoidectomy, (you also got tubes again, but compared to the other stuff it was like getting your nails trimmed) I was a hot mess of anxiety. You on the other hand were cool as a cucumber. Nothing bothers you, I mean, you are the Honey Badger, afterall.

When we got to the Surgery Center you were so brave, and not once looked scared or sad. We had to put a hospital gown on you, and after I had it all on, you looked like this:

Pisssssed.

When the doctor came in, he saw your face, and asked if you were scared. You looked at him and said, "No. This is for girls!" (meaning your gown.)

Then, the wheeled you on back (with your blankey and your Spiderman toy) and an hour later you were back with us, looking like this:

I hate you guys.

You were pretty out of it from the anesthesia, but all went well and as planned. You tried to pull out your IV (a classic Drlich move, and also perhaps some foreshadowing) but otherwise were sleeping pretty peacefully. We gave you a popsicle to eat, which you just wanted to hold and not eat at all, because didn't we all know you just had your tonsils cut out of your throat, and it hurts pretty bad, whattheheckisamattawityou?

This is where you received your first dose of the prescribed pain medicine, and looking back on it, it is a definite sign that something wasn't right. You were out of it, but when you got the medicine, your face instantly became flushed and your body became hot. I freaked out (no way!) because I thought you were having an allergic reaction. But, it turns out you just got really hot.

Once we got home, you were surprisingly doing great. Drinking tons, eating applesauce, taking your medicine like a good boy. You didn't take a nap (hmm, that's weird, I thought), but it was when you started jumping off the couch that I thought this should NOT be happening. I asked the doctor when it was okay for you to start playing outside on a swingset, and he said that you would "police" yourself and knew how far to push yourself. When I saw you running around the house I thought that perhaps the doctor  may be wrong about that. No self-policing.

We later found out that sometimes the medicine he gave you has the opposite effect on kids, making them hyperactive. So, we decided to just stick with Tylenol. I was not going to risk a PCP-like-Sam jumping out of second story windows on my watch. No thank you.

Two days later, on Saturday, was the worst of all the days. I think all of the medicines were worn off, and you had just woken up, so everything was dry. You refused to take medicine or drink anything. For five hours. This was not cool. As we all know, the Honey Badger doesn't give a shit, and the HB didn't give a shit about taking medicine. I would come in with the tiny cup, talking all sweet-like, and as soon as I would get closer, you would flip my hand over, and the cup would go flying -- sticky, red medicine everywhere. Like a crazy old man refusing drugs in a nursing home. Finally, after a few attempts at sitting on top of you, holding your head and forcing the medicine down your throat, we got some in and you resumed drinking, and also your PCP ways. You are an odd mix of completely in pain and miserable, refusing ALL OF THE THINGS, and then completely crazy kicking me when I won't let you hang off of your tree swing.

You were hurtin.

This has sort of gone on for the last few days, albeit getting better and better slowly. I know you are in so much pain and it just makes me feel awful. It is also so frustrating that you will not take your medicine or drink when I know it will make you feel so much better. You have not eaten since Friday, which is both fascinating and frightening. (ED: He has since eaten today. Don't worry Grandmas out there!)Yesterday I couldn't take it anymore and just started crying out of frustration, tiredness, and empathy. I just wished I could make you all better. You sat next to me and looked at my face, staring at my tears, confused.


Last night, I was trying to get you to go to bed and was laying next to you in your twin bed. You had refused any Tylenol and I know you were in a lot of pain, and it was hard for you to get comfortable. I asked if you wanted me to sing to you, and you said yes. So, I did. We laid there looking at each other, and you started patting my arm, and then you grabbed my hand and just held it.

You are so brave and so strong my little Samson. You will be just fine.

Love,
Mama