I've always spurned the prospect of surgery.
Even if it meant I would come out "improved" and more desirable, it did not matter.
Not for any reason other than the fact that I was afraid.
I thought if God forbid I died during elective surgery,
my poor children will be scarred forever
( there's that over-inflated sense of self again).
But nine months ago, I did it.
I guess the fact that I was approaching 40 pushed me into it.
There I was lying on the operating table, whining-
"when I wake up, my breasts will be beautiful, right?"
I was reassured that I was going to be alright.
After the procedure I felt my chest, and the first words out of my mouth were:
"I thought we had an agreement!"
My breasts, untouched, were still hanging by my armpits
(a casualty of breastfeeding).
But my throat was killing me.
I guess they could not throw in a boob job with my tonsillectomy after all.
I used to be afflicted with tonsilolliths.
Nasty, nasty, nasty little throat buggers that I'd have to pluck out with a metal blackhead remover, as part of my daily routine for oral hygiene.
Apparently fairly common, not many people talk about it because quite simply, it stinks.
Totally harmless except for your social life, the only cure is surgery.
I did not live with these crypt dwellers all my life.
But I believe it started not long after my move to this country.
What causes it remains a mystery, but some hypothesize a relationship between stress and the tonsil stones.
(the chicken or the egg: immigration stress or chronic halitosis)
Recovering from an adult tonsillectomy is a long and extremely painful process.
It made a post c-section feel like a vacation.
For four weeks, each swallow of the most minute bit of saliva felt like hell.
Imagine what eating corn dogs were doing to me.
I could not talk, I experienced urinary incontinence from the pain from the mere act of sneezing and I had to forego yawning for over a month--not an easy feat.
Despite everything, like childbirth, I would do it again.
The quality of my life (and Steve's I should say) is so much better.
Luckily, unless those suckers grow back, I won't have to.
Even if it meant I would come out "improved" and more desirable, it did not matter.
Not for any reason other than the fact that I was afraid.
I thought if God forbid I died during elective surgery,
my poor children will be scarred forever
( there's that over-inflated sense of self again).
But nine months ago, I did it.
I guess the fact that I was approaching 40 pushed me into it.
There I was lying on the operating table, whining-
"when I wake up, my breasts will be beautiful, right?"
I was reassured that I was going to be alright.
After the procedure I felt my chest, and the first words out of my mouth were:
"I thought we had an agreement!"
My breasts, untouched, were still hanging by my armpits
(a casualty of breastfeeding).
But my throat was killing me.
I guess they could not throw in a boob job with my tonsillectomy after all.
I used to be afflicted with tonsilolliths.
Nasty, nasty, nasty little throat buggers that I'd have to pluck out with a metal blackhead remover, as part of my daily routine for oral hygiene.
Apparently fairly common, not many people talk about it because quite simply, it stinks.
Totally harmless except for your social life, the only cure is surgery.
I did not live with these crypt dwellers all my life.
But I believe it started not long after my move to this country.
What causes it remains a mystery, but some hypothesize a relationship between stress and the tonsil stones.
(the chicken or the egg: immigration stress or chronic halitosis)
Recovering from an adult tonsillectomy is a long and extremely painful process.
It made a post c-section feel like a vacation.
For four weeks, each swallow of the most minute bit of saliva felt like hell.
Imagine what eating corn dogs were doing to me.
I could not talk, I experienced urinary incontinence from the pain from the mere act of sneezing and I had to forego yawning for over a month--not an easy feat.
Despite everything, like childbirth, I would do it again.
The quality of my life (and Steve's I should say) is so much better.
Luckily, unless those suckers grow back, I won't have to.