Tonsils Have Left the Chat
post surgery pain and reflection
I’ve been MIA for good reason. I had two surgeries done: A tonsillectomy and and Adenoidectomy.
I used to be (maybe I still am?) one of those people who prided themselves on being healthy and well all the time. Overcompensating by finding any excuse to talk about how I don’t ever get sick. Looking back, it seems to have been some sort of a defense mechanism I formed when I realized I didn’t have health insurance as a teenager and then it became a state of being--the gloating-- when it dawned on me that I went most of my adolescence and college years without having health insurance.
My brain made me believe that if I was loud and proud about being healthy then it made sense that I didn’t need to have insurance. That I didn’t have it for a justified reason, because I was genetically superior or something. Like only sick people needed it, like they were the only ones who were worthy of it. Subjected to it because of their incompetence. This was all in preparation for the rare event that someone asked when the last time I went to the doctor was or if I needed medicine when I had a sore throat or cough, I could shrug them off and not feel bad for myself.
In reality, I couldn’t afford health insurance so I relied on spirit and holistic treatment to fight most of my ailments. Played a bunch of sports and never had broken bones. Chalked it up to being blessed and highly favored. I Partook in many mystery substances and drank a lot of questionable drinks but rarely ever got sick. “I just have a high tolerance,” I’d say.
I was just insecure and ashamed even though it wasn’t my fault. I have always been surrounded by people of privilege and subsequently compared myself to them so this was where I was at. Faking it till I made it. And most days this is where I’m still at, especially when I live in LA.
But there I was 11 days ago, buttcheeks out on a medical bed before my surgery exactly at 11:11 AM. Right before I was rolled into the operating room to remove my tonsils. My first surgery ever. I felt of the experience like a birthday party. I’ve never had one of those either.
“Make a wish,” one of the nurses said.
I prayed for everything to run smoothly.
And it did for the most part. Excruciating pain for the following 30 hours until I got into the rhythm of my codeine and ibuprofen. Then it was a semi-tolerable pain for Days 2-3. Day 4-5 being a false hope of feeling better before Days 6 and 7 rocking my shit. The following days brought less of physical pain and more mental unease. The depression or so to speak.
I wake up intoxicated with acetaminophen or paralyzed by pain. I animalistically search for something to soothe myself. I wrestled most nights flailing on my mattress for any semblance of comfort. Wondering when this will end.
Why’d I done this? Oh, because I used to have chronic tonsillitis that caused the two obstructing balls in my throat to be permanently swollen. It wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable. I could speak -- despite being a little nasally-- and I could sing. But The main problem was my snoring.
I had insane sleep apnea and sounded like an ogre when I went to sleep and for so long it’d been like this. Since I was a kid.
It got in the way of my quality of sleep and I would wake up tired no matter how many hours of rest I received. Too busy gasping for air in an attempt for the REM cycle.
It also made sleepovers after hookups really awkward. I once got politely kicked out by this guy after a wonderful night of hanging out because he needed to wake up early in the morning and couldn’t drown out my snores with Family Guy in the background. And despite us having a wholesome night of cuddles and intimate jokes, it wasn’t enough to keep me there and I don’t blame him. Sleep is important.
From what I’ve been told, the surgery has been a success for my snoring. And from what I can feel, it seems like it to me, too. I wake up thoroughly rested and not groggy. I’m happier. I can breathe again. I don’t know how I went so long with this being my state of being but I also think I might be nicer now, too, that I am getting more adequate and healthy sleep. I’ve really been missing out and I am even more excited to finish my album and really being able to belt without such a crowded throat. I wonder if I’ll sound differently. Already my talking voice sounds clearer. It’s like I have to get to know myself all over again.
So often, I’d be in large groups or at a bar and be trying my hardest to speak up and be louder, and people would have such a tough time hearing me because of how muffled I sounded and now that won’t be a problem. I felt silenced for so long in these settings like I was being silenced against my will and I guess in return I became one hell of a listener, maybe that’s why I immersed myself in writing, but now it’s my turn to speak.
The seemingly never-ending pain I endured was worth it in the end and I’m only on Day 9/10. I still would never wish the pain of a tonsillectomy and adenoidectomy on my worst enemy but I’m glad I got this over with once and for all.
The sucky part was waking up from surgery and reading a text from my employer that I was being fired. Something along the lines of “Wishing you a quick recovery, but we’ve decided to hire someone who speaks Farsi.”
Too much to really unpack there, but now I’m jobless. Luckily, I have a decent savings to help me hop around and find some work but I also think this is the universe trying to tell me something for the umpteenth time.
That I need to stop working in offices. That I’m a born creative and I am meant to be on stages and sets. In studios and creative spaces. With other like-minded artists and not filing paperwork for LVNs and doctors.
This recovery time from my surgery has surely brought me closer to myself and my faith and helped me understand the importance of listening to my heart— something I neglected from being consumed by the 9-5 work week.
During this downtime, I was able to send several promising queries out, and a couple of auditions. I might be getting signed to an acting agency after years of attempting. I feel more like myself even while still feeling lost. I started the process of a new novel and it feels like a fever dream to think I’ve even completed the first one. This time feels harder and more purposeful. I’m scared and uncertain in a way I wasn’t about UNMASTERED. I’m going to Chicago in less than 3 weeks and I’ve never been more excited. It feels like so much of my heart is still there in Lakeview. Now I’m just rambling, not even my closest friends know this insecure side of me when it came to my tonsils and sleep apnea, so this feels nice. And it feels good to have to pretend less. And the thing around my neck is loosening just a little bit. And I can take deeper breaths.
Here’s Sleep Apnea, by Beach Fossils. The only way to sum up my feelings.