The O,MY in TonsillectOMY

My 3 year old daughter had to undergo a tonsillectomy, adenoidectomy and have tubes removed from both ears. I did a lot of research online that I found very comforting, frightening and helpful. I decided to document what happened to use to help others who will have to deal with this with their kids.

This was our journey.

First Dr. Appointment
We were sent to a specialist, an Ear, Nose and Throat doctor to review my daughter's ASTRONOMICALLY HUGE tonsils. I mean, these suckers are B-I-G.

The rest of the appointment only took a few minutes before the doctor said he’d recommend taking them out. Tonsils AND adenoids. And, by the way, we will go ahead and remover her tubes in both ears. We went home to process the information, and spend hours on Google to finally make the decision to go forward with the surgery.

BETWEEN 1st Appointment and Pre-Op
This is when I get nervous and wonder if we’ve made the right decision. All I can think of is that my little girl is going to have surgery. What if something goes wrong? Did we NEED to do this? My parent's told me how in the ’70s when everyone had it done. But did they need it? Does she need it?

Then I remember how big her tonsils really are. Oh, and the part about her not always sleeping very well. And, the absurd snoring.These things can get better with the surgery. And, it’s better to have it done as a kid. They heal faster.

Then, I think about the recovery. I read tons online about how hard it is to recover. How badly her throat will hurt. She might throw up. She won’t be able to eat solid food. I picture her frail little body all puny, and hurting. How can I make this better? And, she hasn’t even had the surgery yet. This is what I think of every day.

I start to prepare a list of questions … one of the big ones is: How far can we go with her at the hospital? I’d accompany her into the surgery room if I were allowed. As I come up with questions, I write them down.


Pre-Op Appointment
This is the appointment that makes this real. We are proceeding with surgery on my baby. She’ll undergo anesthesia, and have sharp instruments put in her tiny mouth and head in order to remove her tonsils and adenoids.

This meeting actually takes place over the phone with a clinician who went over the entire procedure. Everything from what time to get there, to how long we could stay and what to expect afterward. He gave us all the paperwork with all the information we’d need to prepare for a long weekend of doing nothing except making our daughter comfortable, making sure she drinks a lot of fluids and takes her pain medication.

I brought my list of questions and all were answered:

Can we be with her until he goes into surgery? Yes
Can she bring her special blanket? Yes
How long does it take? 30 minutes
Will she get an IV? Yes

This "appointment" made me feel better. I’m not certain why … might just be that now I know what to expect. The doctor told me he’s done thousands of these surgeries before. “Thousands,” I repeat in my head. I can’t think of much that I’ve done a thousand times. This makes me feel better. He knows what he’s doing. He has a pleasant, reassuring nod as he’s telling me it will be OK.

I tell myself that tomorrow we will have a nice, big dinner, then no food after midnight. No breakfast Thursday morning. Nothing to drink either. This will be fun. My daughter likes routine. She likes getting something to drink first thing in the morning. Then, have her breakfast. We have to be at the surgery center at 7:30 a.m. so I’m hoping this will help — figuring she’ll be so tired that she won’t miss not eating.

Eve of Surgery
Now I’m wondering what her voice will sound like. I’ve been reading, and people have been telling me their stories, how their kid’s voice sounds very different. We were told this in the pre-op appointment too. I love my baby's little child voice. I love hearing her talk. It’s the cutest sound in the world. What will she sound like after the surgery? I worry about this.


Surgery Day
We had to arrive at the surgery center by 7:30a.m. for a 8:30 a.m. surgery slot.

After paperwork and the routine stuff for a doctor or hospital visit, they brought us back where we met the anesthesiologist. He reviewed how the medicine would work and what to expect. Three quick breaths of "silly gas" and she would be out. From that point they would administer more medicine via IV.

Time to say good bye. We gave her kisses, but she didn't really understand what was gong on. Why she was going with the nurses. Why mommy and daddy weren't coming too. As she made it to the end of the hall and pressed the magic button to open the OR doors I lost it. That was my baby. I blamed myself for putting her though the ordeal yet to come and I was more sorry than she will ever know.

After I calmed down and gathered myself my husband and I waited in the waiting room. Thirty-eight minutes later the Dr. said the surgery went well and that we’d be able to go see our daughter in about 10 minutes. He also mentioned that she had the largest tonsils and adenoids he'd ever seen in a young child.

We were brought into the “recovery room” to meet our daughter as she woke up.

This next part I have thought long and hard about whether or not to include. I decided to include it because I realize that I wish I had known more of what to expect. Even though I had gone through this part before, it doesn't get easier. I could not have been better prepared emotionally. If you don’t want the details, just stop reading here.

They call this the “delirium stage,” and frankly, I wasn’t prepared. Her face was swollen, her eyelids were red and puffy and she couldn’t open them. This scared her and made her cry and lurch around frantically. She kept trying to yank the IV from her arm. “This stage lasts 30 minutes to 1 hour,” the nurse explained to us.

I fought hard to hold back tears as they blew oxygen in her face. The nurse handed me my precious baby and I just ran my fingers through her hair, told her I loved her, that I was here, Daddy was here. We love her. She’s doing such a good job. We’re here, honey. It’s OK, sweetie. Mommy and Daddy are right here. We’re in the recovery room and it’s alright. You’ll start to feel better soon. I know you can’t see very good right now, but I know you can hear me and we’re right here. Mommy and Daddy are here.
The nurse covered us in a big warm blanked and we just kept talking to her. The nurse said it helps. Then, she said she could give her a tiny dose of morphine (I think that’s what it was, honestly it was hard to remember everything as my heart was breaking) if we thought she needed it. I just gave her what I call my mom look, nodding without moving my head, and she gave her the medicine. Slowly she began to quiet and drift off. This only lasted about 5 minutes and she began groaning again, although now she was fighting to open her eyes.
It was so hard to understand what she was saying. I had to laugh at one point. I didn't know what else to do. In turn she was angered that I couldn't comprehend. Finally we heard a phrase we knew all to well. "I'm done!!" Another chuckle as I reassured her and offered her a popsicle. It would be a while before she decided to accept it.

Post Op (Day One)
We arrived home within two hours of the surgery. Once home, she slept on the sofa. We woke her for her first dose of medicine and to get something to drink. We also offered her a Popsicle. The popsicle was a hit, the medicine was NOT. She has only sipped drinks for the past few hours, and hasn’t really wanted much in the way of food, but we kept offering it every couple hours.
The hardest part of the surgery day is the first hour after surgery. The good news is that it’s over quickly. It’s just gut-wrenching to see your child in any amount of discomfort — physical or emotional. This is the part of the day where you may cry. I would recommend not doing this alone. Make sure your spouse or a friend is with you. You’ll need the emotional support of each other so that you both can be 100 percent present for your child.