This shit is for the birds, people. I’m not familiar with many surgeries, thank goodness, but I *am* familiar with tonsillectomies. I mean, who pluralizes that? I know how to pluralize it. As this is my second, I know that they’re not kidding when they warn that the pain will GET WORSE for the first four to seven days.
It just ain’t right, but it’s so. As Lala pointed out to my complaining ass last night, EVERYTHING I need to do is affected. Breathing hurts due to the holes in my throat. Swallowing is awful. Eating is almost impossible. Talking is agony, AND I sound stupid. Can’t sleep for choking, and I feel too bad to even wash my hair.
And here’s this huge ugly wound, constantly moving, in a dark, bacteria-filled, dirty place, and it has to just fight its way through infection to health. Me and my throat, we’re tired. I know I’ll feel better soon, in a matter of days, probably.
But it’s been five days, and I’m more miserable now than I was then. Ain’t no drugs good enough for this, sadly.
Digit is the best drug for me even though at the moment he’s making me CRAZY trying to bump his cone-head up on top of my lap while I type. See? I’m even annoyed at him today. Bah, bah, bah.
And apparently I kvetch like a sheep.
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