Tonsil-EEK-tomy

In case you weren't already aware, I am getting my tonsils out next Tuesday. Yep, tonsillectomy. And, I am 33.

Pause for you to tell your computer screen (representing me) the most horrific story about adults getting tonsils removed ever. Include all painful and gory details. Don't leave out a second of your friend of a friend's grandmother's day nurse who had them out at age 27 and the pain was so wretched that she went to the East side to buy crack to take her mind off it, ended up addicted and unable to swallow at the same time and is now a homeless, drug addict, throat broken hooker. And the blood... don't forget the swallowing blood part. You know, when your cousin's dentist's handyman had it done at age 41 and he bled so much that he eventually got such a taste for it that now he lives as a vampire? Good one.

Seriously, I appreciate two things about the human need to chime in about their tonsil experiences.... 1. Tips on how to manage the pain from people who have been there. 2. Survival stories that include, "and she had it done on Friday and was at church just fine as can be on Sunday." Anything else.... really?!?!? Why is it we feel the need to do that? If you've never had surgery before to compare this reaction, mention pregnancy to a woman with kids and you will undoubtedly get the full on gory details of the births.

Seriously, start a little experiment today. Ask a currently pregnant woman what women with kids do as soon as you mention that you're pregnant? I do it too, so I am not throwing stones. They will dish out the most horrible details known to mankind. "Oh, you're pregnant? Congratulations! Let me tell you about how I pooped myself on the delivery table and then they ripped me from here.... to... here," (which is always a distance of no less than nine inches). Heart transplants would leave less of a scar.

The problem these days is that none of us (or I should say the few of us that have this habit) have been in battle. Back in the day, there were tribal wars and revolutionary wars and fights for land with bitter cattle ranchers (I've seen Young Guns... I know what's up). So battle scars were real. They were everywhere. Now, we don't have those lives, but I think we still feel compelled to show our scars and be the battle heroes when we can. For me, it's having two kids. Yeah, I did that. (Puff out chest and stand up straighter). After next Tuesday, I will have survived a tonsillectomy, too. So, when either activity comes up in convo, then I get to dust off my invisible Purple Heart and talk about how I conquered sitting on a toilet after a C-section. "I almost gave up, but the need to pee spurred me on. And, with my bladder depending on me to be strong, I took that toilet.... and I won the battle." Bring it on, tonsils... Bring. It. On.