Countless times I have thought I would die because my ears and throat hurt so bad. Countless times I have thought that I just wanted to cut my aching head off because it hurt so bad. Now I have learned, through my own experience, that cutting was not the painless option.
Yesterday I had my tonsillectomy. The prep nurse (she's kind of like a prep cook, but different), Cindy, by name, first asked if I'd had surgery before. I told her I've had three C-sections.
"In which decade?"
Did I look as hurt as I felt? "THIS decade! My last one was in September." How old do you think I am anyway? The questions remained unanswered and stood there, awkwardly, between us.
I started filling out the paperwork. There was one point on the paper I had to sign that got my attention--whatever tissue, organ, etc. that was removed of me would no longer be my property and would be sent to pathology. Ever since I began fantasizing about cutting off hurtful parts of my body, I thought it would be rather swell to then have that part, in my room. It's always been hard for me to throw anything away. Thanks to me, Ammon's umbilical cord can still be found (unless it's all decomposed or was eaten by a mouse) in the wall between the shower and the storeroom over home.
So I nonchalantly asked Cindy, "So, are there a lot of people who want to save their tissue or body part that is removed?"
Cindy was experienced (she looked like the 80's were her birthing decade) and she took preventative measures before another nutty patient asked to keep her tonsils: "We just have to send everything to pathology."
It was one thing for Cindy to think I was old. Quite another to have her think I was crazy. "Oh, I just thought it was funny that that point even has to be on the paperwork."
"You'd be surprised." Cindy answered.
No, not too surprised. I had thought it would be neat to keep my appendix too, but that darn pathology beat me to it. When you really think about it, though, tonsils probably wouldn't hold up too well. Unless they were pickled. Hmm. That might make a tempting addition to my Ladies' Holiday Brunch. Pickled tonsils, anyone?
Don't worry. I didn't get to keep them. I only get to keep the painful sensation that my tongue has been cut off and a fuzzy sock was stuck in my throat to stop the bleeding. That and my HUGE pain pills that are next to impossible to swallow. The depressing news is that my worst day is supposed to be a week after surgery. ow.