Let's just get one thing out of the way first: Tonsillectomies are common and routine. Everyone and their brother has had one. I didn't even know till last week that both my parents had their tonsils & adenoids (T&As) removed as kids. And since they're done on everyone all the time, they can sound easy. Let's all remember that labor and delivery is common and routine...
But the illusion that tonsillectomies are "no big deal" is encouraged by the following:
- It's a short (45min) out-patient procedure.
- It's pretty low-risk.
- It'll fake you out. Recovery does not progress in a linear upward trend, so Day 2 may seem like a cakewalk. Just wait; it's days 4-8 that'll get ya.
- Inevitably someone will tell you their child was eating potato chips the next day. If you listen to these insanely-lucky people, Murphy's Law dictates you will not be one of them.
Sweet Aaron's was compounded by his...hair. Believe it or not, Josh (our in-house geneticist) has seen the proof that the same gene which gives a person red hair also gives them a higher sensitivity to pain and heavier reaction to anesthesia.
Which brings us back to the only reason you're still reading: our boy Aaron!
This is the PRECIOUSNESS that came out of the OR. And Papa Bear (aka Dr. Denny) standing guard. Aaron was OUT. And really, as we painstakingly discovered, he just needed to stay out.
But the nurses are trained to wake them, because patients can't go home until they've proven they can swallow and hold something down (we don't keep IVs at home, so he's gotta be hydrated and medicated at home without one). We woke Aaron every 30-60 minutes to try a few sips of slushy. Which we saw again immediately afterward. Every. Time.
[For parents about to go through this, I should mention that one nurse kept wanting to hold off on giving Aaron meds because she said they would make him drowsy when we needed him awake enough to drink. For the record, she was wrong. In his case, the anesthesia was keeping him more than drowsy and another lortab wasn't going to make much difference on that front but it would make a difference in his pain level (i.e. willingness to swallow), so we insisted.]
By 5-6pm, Aaron had been unable to hold down anything, so the docs agreed he should stay the night. I wasn't thrilled about spending the night in a cot, in my clothes, with no windows (we were in "overflow"), but it was more than offset by my relief that we wouldn't be force-feeding a vomiting 4-year-old pain meds and slushies all night. From that point on, they could give him everything he needed via IV and we could just let him sleep the whole thing off. Mercy.
In the meantime, Josh went home to relieve my parents, and a savior/neighbor delivered dinner to our brood. I had a headache the size of Texas, so I escaped the cell--er, room--to grab some dinner and happened on a farmers market in the hospital courtyard. It felt like springtime in the middle of winter. Hallelujah for fresh peaches. When I got back, Aaron woke just enough to watch some cartoons and then sleep through the night.
The next morning, I woke to find him sitting up in his bed, looking at me with his perky little elfish self. It was a new day. Remember what I said about a tonsillectomy faking you out? Yeah. This wasn't the last time it would happen, but it was glorious.
He ate some ice cream and took a popsicle for the road. We were on our way. Or so I thought.
We got to Josh's really great, low-mileage, lovable and until-now-dependable car, and it showed me this:
It is not supposed to look like this. So we waited in a hot parking garage for an hour while it was resolved. And saw that ice cream and popsicle again. And again. :(
When we finally made it home, some brotherly love and Daddy's arms and pudding (and meds, of course) helped set the world right again. So began the real recovery...
But don't worry. I won't recount the following two weeks of mundane 3-steps-forward-2-steps-back. Let me just give you the advice I found true and important during the days that followed:
- Don't make any big plans for the patient for 2 weeks.
- Accept all offers of help during that time. You don't know how much you may need them by day 7-8.
- The recovery usually gets worse (days 4-8) before it gets better (days 8-10).
- Keep giving them pain meds around the clock until they turn the corner (usually around days 7-10). If you wait too long, the pain will prevent them from swallowing the meds they need to decrease the pain (and swallow anything else).
- Relax about food for a fortnight. When Aaron ate anything, it was usually treats (slushies, gogurts, jello) or comfort food (for him, cereal soaked in milk). He lived on Lucky Charms the first week, because it fit both categories.
- Use a humidifier in their bedroom at night.
- Don't expect them to talk normally for a few weeks. Aaron talked in a high-pitched voice and toddler-type accent for a week or two because it hurt to enunciate, but that all went away as he healed.
From the parent perspective, giving the meds at night was hard. I'm getting too old for the every-3-hour routine. (How did I do that for months after each baby??) Plus Aaron was most uncomfortable at night, so there was a lot of crying and confusion involved in each dose -- and a lot of doubt on my part on when to wake him (he needs the sleep!) and when to give the meds (what if he's crying but it's not time yet?). I was pretty worn out by day 8, so it was convenient that Josh got back home from a business trip, and I left for a women's conference with friends...in Orlando. ;)
Which is about when Aaron "turned the corner" and began sleeping through the night, eating more normally, and jumping back into the fray with his brothers.
Today, Aaron is totally healed, has great memories of the experience (he told me once, "I got my tonsils out; I get dessert every day!" #nicetry), is sleeping soundly without snoring, has higher athletic endurance, and is processing ideas better than ever. Like everyone I ever talked to, we ARE so glad to have done it. And to have it behind us. ;)
No comments:
Post a Comment