(no subject)
I got my tonsils out exactly two weeks ago, and they still fucking hurt--bad. My advice to anyone considering a tonsillectomy is to back out. If it's not completely necessary, the pain you'll experience afterward isn't going to be worth it. Adult tonsillectomies are apparently more painful than giving birth. They are touted as one of the most painful surgeries there is.
Very late in the night (or perhaps very early into the morning) I wake up alone with the pain. There have been several intense moments, several moments in which I have been half-human half-animal, making mangled noises through my ruined throat, and not even a Catholic could question my ape origins. When you are in pain, these noises come from you unbidden and you can't control them. When you are in pain, you can't control yourself. Pain, not love or intellect, rules humanity. Put a person in extreme pain and you'll be surprised at what that person is able to do, is willing to do, is even glad to do if only to stop the pain. Being in pain gives you thoughts that you are ashamed of, makes you do things like creep to the kitchen under the cover of darkness and lift your bottle of liquid vicodin to your mouth and take a long, unmeasured swig. You don't care about overdosing when you are in pain beyond your tolerance threshold. And nighttime is the most primal time anyway; everyone knows that. You can stand, silent, over your family members, alone in your pain, and your mind runs over a thousand thoughts and through a thousand tangents. You find the spots that organized society would like to pretend didn't exist.
I always considered myself to be pretty pain tolerant. I once gashed my knee open to the bone while playing baseball and didn't notice until I'd rounded all the bases and was told "Your pants are soaked with blood." I was eating solid food within two days of getting my wisdom teeth out. I tore several muscles and fractured a bone in my foot, and I walked on it for a week before the pain got bad enough for me to decide to see a doctor. I'm tough. And this tonsillectomy has brought me to my knees. While eating pureed mush--mashed potatoes put through a blender, creamed corn beaten beyond recognition--tears have leaked out of the corners of my eyes from the pure agony of swallowing. When my first scab came off, I bellowed. There was no other word to describe the noise that came ripping out of my lungs, passing through my torn up throat and into the world.
In other news, I got a job as a gymnastics teacher. This probably makes me an extremely hot commodity in the dating world, I think. Once I can talk again, at least. And once I dump that douchebag Scott.
Very late in the night (or perhaps very early into the morning) I wake up alone with the pain. There have been several intense moments, several moments in which I have been half-human half-animal, making mangled noises through my ruined throat, and not even a Catholic could question my ape origins. When you are in pain, these noises come from you unbidden and you can't control them. When you are in pain, you can't control yourself. Pain, not love or intellect, rules humanity. Put a person in extreme pain and you'll be surprised at what that person is able to do, is willing to do, is even glad to do if only to stop the pain. Being in pain gives you thoughts that you are ashamed of, makes you do things like creep to the kitchen under the cover of darkness and lift your bottle of liquid vicodin to your mouth and take a long, unmeasured swig. You don't care about overdosing when you are in pain beyond your tolerance threshold. And nighttime is the most primal time anyway; everyone knows that. You can stand, silent, over your family members, alone in your pain, and your mind runs over a thousand thoughts and through a thousand tangents. You find the spots that organized society would like to pretend didn't exist.
I always considered myself to be pretty pain tolerant. I once gashed my knee open to the bone while playing baseball and didn't notice until I'd rounded all the bases and was told "Your pants are soaked with blood." I was eating solid food within two days of getting my wisdom teeth out. I tore several muscles and fractured a bone in my foot, and I walked on it for a week before the pain got bad enough for me to decide to see a doctor. I'm tough. And this tonsillectomy has brought me to my knees. While eating pureed mush--mashed potatoes put through a blender, creamed corn beaten beyond recognition--tears have leaked out of the corners of my eyes from the pure agony of swallowing. When my first scab came off, I bellowed. There was no other word to describe the noise that came ripping out of my lungs, passing through my torn up throat and into the world.
In other news, I got a job as a gymnastics teacher. This probably makes me an extremely hot commodity in the dating world, I think. Once I can talk again, at least. And once I dump that douchebag Scott.