In case you've ever had your tonsils removed, what I am about to reveal to you will most likely differ from your own personal experiences. Times have changed people, and hopefully they'll keep changing. Luckily, advancements in technology have a lot to do with it, and maybe some creative thinking.
But let's start from the beginning, shall we?
Last year, we had a brief peek down Bailey's throat and saw the largest set of tonsils imaginable, at least to us. This caused us to immediately contact our pediatrician's office the next morning for a visit which ended up with a positive culture for strep. We were warned that it may take a while for her tonsils to reduce in size and go back to normal. And well, it continued to take a while. Months passed, and no reduction. I happened to browse through some old photos of Bailey laughing and noticed that her enlarged tonsils seemed to be featured in quite a few of them spanning a few months ahead and we had never noticed. I'm not going to give myself a hard time about that though, since the time we did discover them, they were at their largest and they were infected with strep, and the tonsils themselves were our only symptom of that. Other than the golf ball sized tonsils, she was perfectly fine and as ornery as always.
During one of our consultations with our pediatrician, she was asking us more questions to get down to the
nitty gritty about these tonsils gone rogue and it became apparent that they might need to be removed. After realizing just how bad her snoring was, which we'd asked her about before, she decided there might also be an adenoid issue. She referred us to Dr. Wei. Getting into Dr. Wei's office was harder than breaking into a Vegas casino's vault. But once we did get in, she was blunt and to the point, and we were finally on our way to a tonsil-blocking free life full of snore-less nights and a lack of fluid in the ears, which leads me to Friday's adventure.
Bailey had been promised she could bring a friend or two with her to the hospital. After some contemplation, she chose these two. The blue thing is actually a dog toy that was never given to Kaitlin, because a certain little redhead decided she'd much rather it belong to her. Anyway, she picked out her two pals and we had our bag all ready to go. The doctor had also mentioned to Bailey that she could bring a blanket along, which she grabbed, yet never used. And she knew she'd get to eat a Popsicle after the surgery and watch a movie. All of these things had been promised to her, which was why she was such a willing participant.
We'd read a book the night before, as mentioned in a previous blog entry. It was all about another little girl's tonsillectomy. I had found it in a book store (only by chance) a couple weeks prior and thought it might come in handy. We'd been honest with Bailey about this surgery, not wanting anything to be a surprise, other than perhaps, presents. We'd talked about it, both asked and answered questions, and made a shopping list of soft foods together which we later went and bought as a family. Our shopping cart looked like we'd busted into a Willy
Wonka factory. There were that many sugary indulgences- pudding, chocolate yogurt, ice cream, Lemonade, Jell-O, Popsicles. You name it, we probably bought it. She couldn't wait to start eating them all.
Bailey was more prepared for this surgery than I ever would have expected a four year old to be. She had really paid attention to the story. But the story didn't mention some of the points we encountered. First off, the waiting room was far too crowded, so we hung out in the front entrance instead.
There was a little house to play in as well as that pirate ship, which she proudly pointed out she had at home, but in different colors. She played in there a great while with her two little stuffed friends. We also did some coloring with the crayons and miniature coloring book they had given her.
Does that crayon look yellow to you?
It was hard to keep ourselves from becoming too anxious.
I'm not normally one of those people who compulsively play with their phones and watches, but by this time, even I was obsessed with the time. But finally, we were taken into a room where we could do some more waiting.
The nurse brought Bailey a gown, which she exhibited great disgust towards. It took some convincing to get her to put it on.
Her "love" for the "hat" was even more profound.
She was starting to get a bit nervous and then the
anesthesiologist came in and let her pick out her "flavor." He had an assortment of
chapsticks,
chapsticks of all flavors and brands. Bailey settled for grape. He took the grape and rubbed it throughout her gas mask and then gave it to her for safe keeping and was on his way. He had a wonderful approach with her and seemed to ease her worried, little mind. He explained how she'd breathe through it and what was going to happen. Bailey loves every little medical detail. Being left in the dark is never an option.
She tried her mask out on her little canine until Daddy and Mommy thwarted her efforts, citing something about getting the mask dirty, whatever that meant.
She certainly cheered up after her visit with Dr.
Chapstick and before we knew it, she was ready to drive away to her surgical destiny, quite literally. Dr. Wei came in and asked her if she'd like to get into the Jeep and drive off, and that's just what she did, with Dr.
Chapstick right behind her.
Oh, and you'd be proud of me (at least some of you will), because Dr. Wei asked me if I'd like her to take photos of the tonsils for me once they were out of my small Bailey's body, but I resisted, only because I knew Daddy would want to strangle me.
The surgery was supposed to be at 9:30, but they didn't actually get her in until close to 11. The wait felt like it took forever. We were anxious to have her returned to us and Dr. Wei motioned us into a small room and informed us how well the surgery had gone along with the news that Bailey had an abnormally large adenoid. She uses a technique on the tonsils and adenoid that basically burns them out rather than needing to do any cutting and stitches. And although she used her standard technique on the tonsils, she had to go to much greater lengths in removing the adenoid. Everything went splendidly though and then back to the waiting room we went. Waiting to see Bailey in the recovery room took even longer than it did after her surgery. Finally, we were escorted in back and there she was, sleeping like she's never slept before. Her breathing already sounded different. It was almost purely silent, something we'd never experienced before. It was creepy, really.
When she finally started to awaken, we asked her if she'd finally like her unicorn. She'd been asking all morning about her unicorn. It was supposed to be a surprise for her, but she knew it was in the bag during our wait in the room before the surgery and the thought of her new toy actually got her through most of the anxiety during the wait. It ended up being a good idea she had seen it peeking through the bag. Anyway, she quickly nodded for her new unicorn and gently smiled. You could tell she was a little sore, but she was a champion and so brave. The nurse offered her a Popsicle which she graciously took and she picked out the movie,
A Bug's Life to watch. We'd never actually watched it before, but we've wanted to.
She opened one of her presents, the one from her Godparents, Mike and Julie, (she later opened the presents from us at home), ate another Popsicle, and before we knew it our original nurse returned and offered her something from the Treasure Box.
A girl after my own heart, she chose a pink
crocigator hiding in the bottom of the chest. We went over our care instructions, and what had originally felt like an eternity then felt like a quick ticket out of there. She ended up sleeping most of the drive home and even once we got home, but once she did wake up, she was just like before, except her voice is different and that's going to take some major getting used to. But I think I can manage, after all, she made it through three procedures just fine.
