Coffee Table Declarations
Friday, March 26, 2004
In honor of Pinky's recent surgery and inspired by Lainey's post, I'm going to tell you the story of when I got my tonsils out. Let's all discuss our surgical experiences, shall we?
I was 8 years old and in fact... I know that it was January or February so I'm amazed to realize that this was actually twenty years ago. How can something be twenty years ago? Doesn't that seem like eons of time? Back in those days (because after all, 1984 was quite a long time ago when it comes to the field of medicine), a routine tonsilectomy was an overnight stay at the hospital. I don't think it is today. In fact, if I'm not mistaken, I think I may have even stayed over for two nights.
I was nervous as could be arriving the evening before the surgery with my parents. I stayed in the children's ward of the hospital so I was in a room with a whole bunch of other kids. One of them was awful nice to me. She told us she was in seventh grade and she lent me her stuffed monkey so I would feel less scared. He was a sock monkey and quite cute but I do remember wondering what he could do to help me. Still, it was a sweet gesture.
I remember having dinner at the hospital that night and being so thrilled by the large, yellow, yummy Pac-Man cookie on my dinner tray. To this day that Pac-Man cookie is what I remember most distinctly about the whole thing. After that, I couldn't eat anything before the surgery and after the surgery I couldn't eat anything much so maybe that's why the Pac-Man cookie has taken on such importance in my mind.
My dad stayed overnight at the hospital with me but not in the children's ward. I guess he slept on a cot somewhere - I've never given it much thought. However, he did take me for a walk to the hospital lobby sometime around midnight and talked to me about feeling scared. I also remember that we saw kids riding their IV poles down the halls like scooters. And I remember feeling fortunate that I could still go to the bathroom on my own instead of having to use a bedpan.
When it came time for me to go into surgery I was wheeled down in a bed. My parents accompanied me part of the way but then they had to stay behind and that was really scary. Luckily there was a nice nurse with me and she told me her name was Bertha. I remember because that was the first time I had ever heard that name.
I don't remember much after that. I was lying in the middle of a room full of grown-ups - doctors, nurses, etc., one of whom said, "why don't I just give you a mirror and let you take your own tonsils out?" But that was not to be. Instead, they put an anethesia mask on my face and told me to count. I didn't like the way it smelled but it put me out and the next thing I remember was waking up in the recovery room and wondering where in the hell I was and what was going on. When I sat up to look around some nurse said rather sternly, "lie down!" I do remember asking where I was and she said "the recovery room", as if that clarified anything.
The remainder of the day I was in and out of consciousness. I do remember riding on an elevator, still in bed, back up to the children's ward. The rest is all kind of hazy. There was ice cream, temperature taking, bedpans, a sock monkey waiting for me, the whole nine yards. But I did not ride on my IV pole down the hall like a scooter.
I was 8 years old and in fact... I know that it was January or February so I'm amazed to realize that this was actually twenty years ago. How can something be twenty years ago? Doesn't that seem like eons of time? Back in those days (because after all, 1984 was quite a long time ago when it comes to the field of medicine), a routine tonsilectomy was an overnight stay at the hospital. I don't think it is today. In fact, if I'm not mistaken, I think I may have even stayed over for two nights.
I was nervous as could be arriving the evening before the surgery with my parents. I stayed in the children's ward of the hospital so I was in a room with a whole bunch of other kids. One of them was awful nice to me. She told us she was in seventh grade and she lent me her stuffed monkey so I would feel less scared. He was a sock monkey and quite cute but I do remember wondering what he could do to help me. Still, it was a sweet gesture.
I remember having dinner at the hospital that night and being so thrilled by the large, yellow, yummy Pac-Man cookie on my dinner tray. To this day that Pac-Man cookie is what I remember most distinctly about the whole thing. After that, I couldn't eat anything before the surgery and after the surgery I couldn't eat anything much so maybe that's why the Pac-Man cookie has taken on such importance in my mind.
My dad stayed overnight at the hospital with me but not in the children's ward. I guess he slept on a cot somewhere - I've never given it much thought. However, he did take me for a walk to the hospital lobby sometime around midnight and talked to me about feeling scared. I also remember that we saw kids riding their IV poles down the halls like scooters. And I remember feeling fortunate that I could still go to the bathroom on my own instead of having to use a bedpan.
When it came time for me to go into surgery I was wheeled down in a bed. My parents accompanied me part of the way but then they had to stay behind and that was really scary. Luckily there was a nice nurse with me and she told me her name was Bertha. I remember because that was the first time I had ever heard that name.
I don't remember much after that. I was lying in the middle of a room full of grown-ups - doctors, nurses, etc., one of whom said, "why don't I just give you a mirror and let you take your own tonsils out?" But that was not to be. Instead, they put an anethesia mask on my face and told me to count. I didn't like the way it smelled but it put me out and the next thing I remember was waking up in the recovery room and wondering where in the hell I was and what was going on. When I sat up to look around some nurse said rather sternly, "lie down!" I do remember asking where I was and she said "the recovery room", as if that clarified anything.
The remainder of the day I was in and out of consciousness. I do remember riding on an elevator, still in bed, back up to the children's ward. The rest is all kind of hazy. There was ice cream, temperature taking, bedpans, a sock monkey waiting for me, the whole nine yards. But I did not ride on my IV pole down the hall like a scooter.
