Tonsillectomy of Terror - Day 1

Having read approximately a zillion blogs about recovering from an adult tonsillectomy, I decided I'd better jot down my own experiences. Apparently, those of us who get our tonsils removed as adults are OBSESSED with comparing notes. I know I have been.
Soooo here we go!!

Day 1 (day of the surgery) - First order of business: Make Patient as Hideous as Possible!!
       A. Remove patient's adorbs outfit and all jewelry. Confiscate patient's one of a kind made-in-Nepal handbag and lock it up in a safe. Steal patient's fuzzy pink tiger-stripe socks.
       B. Redress patient in Hospital Chic. This look features the timeless Open Back Gowne in the all-season Hospital Floral Abstract print. Sure to leave your butt flapping in the icy breeze of the over-air-conditioned hospital room. Also included: green socks the color of slightly used mashed peas, and the HOTTEST new hospital accessory, Painfully-Bright-Blue Leg Wraps! These hideous blue foam pads are designed to be hooked up to a kind of air pump (no, really) and massage the legs during surgery, to prevent blood clots. Tres chic.
        C. Remove patient's carefully applied on-trend sparkling pewter nail polish. (omg! for real??)
        D. Swipe off patient's black mascara (don't you know my not-exactly-natural hair color doesn't match my natural eyelashes?!! the horror!!!)
        E. Force patient to remove contact lenses and swap out for ill-fitting eyeglasses.
        F. Strap a zillion tubes, wires, needles, and other painful accouterments to patient's body.

NOTE: it's very important, during the make-hideous process, to utterly confuse and terrify the patient by talking at HIGH-SPEED about all the possible complications - anything that could conceivably go wrong will be accounted for in detail during this process.

Now that the patient is hideous and confused, pump 'em full of all kinds of medicine while glossing over what exactly the medicine IS. At this time, make sure to separate patient from their concerned loved ones. Isolate the patient in its own room and play with its tubes. Cackle occasionally. Make vague references about a "sedative" and then chortle vengefully while the patient wails in distress.

(Okay, at this point I MIGHT have been hallucinating slightly.)

Now, what I was most worried about was going under. I'd never experienced general anesthesia. I SHOULD have, mind you. All four of my wisdom teeth were removed whilst I was awake. I was not supposed to be awake. That's another story.

I was scared of the moment of slipping under. The anesthesiologist warned me (in dire tones) that this moment might be insanely terrifying. That my very sanity might hang on the brink of this moment. That I might glimpse Lovecraftian horrors before slipping, screaming, into the abyss.
Or something like that.

In actuality, I just dropped off - easy peasy. I remember being wheeled from Torture Room #1 (the initial hospital room, where I was stripped of my street clothes and made hideous) into Torture Room #2 (where the sedative was given) and then into the Operating Room of Ultimate Horrors (where the surgery was performed).
All I remember about the OR is that it was ice-cold, and I was conscious in there for maybe three minutes before I just passed right out.

Apparently, that's when I was restrained, a breathing tube was shoved down my windpipe, and my tonsils were savagely torn from my throat and devoured, raw and dripping, by the surgeon.
(Maybe still hallucinating?)

I'd been warned that when I first awoke, the breathing tube would still be down my throat. It wasn't. Or at least, I wasn't conscious enough to register it. When I awoke, the surgery was done, I felt well-rested, and I was in very little pain (yay!).

I was fully able to speak. I was pleasantly drugged-up at first: I know that I chattered some extremely garbled nonsense to nurses for a while, until they tired of my pratter and wheeled me back to my family. My family was not able to take the hoped-for video of my drug-drunkenness; by the time we were all reunited, I was talking like a semi-normal person.

Pain was still not bad at all. I was pretty dizzy; I was taken to the front entrance in a wheelchair, hubby pulled up in the van and helped me in, and we headed homeward.

I was feeling great! The hated tonsils were gone! I had my cute clothes on again; I think I even had my contacts back in. I magnanimously gave my husband permission to stop at Kentucky Fried Chicken and get some popper things for him and our little boy for dinner. Hubby gave me a look. He knew, even if I didn't, that pain was coming. "If there's no line," he said. "I still have to pick up your pain meds at the pharmacy."

I waved a breezy hand. No worries! I was doing great! I was on top of the world! There was no line; the chicken was fetched. Then he took me & the kidlet home, and ran out to the store for painkillers and ice cream.

By the time he got back, I was ravenously tearing at the ice cream container with my teeth. I was hungry (no eating or drinking since midnight the night before) but more importantly, my ripped-up throat was starting to throb. The throb was scary. It smacked of pain to come.

Still, Day 1 was not scary and the pain was minimal. I spent the evening cheerfully working on my art and making jewelry, and Facebooking my friends about my experience. Ooh, I was so brave!!!

Then Hell began ...