With all the gunk that surely was stored up in my tonsils, I felt like I deserved to lose 3 pounds yesterday morning, not just a few ounces. However, the real reward is ditching those tonsils–so all is good.

The outpatient surgical rooms were small but adequate. I know they were doing a number of cateract and tonsil procedures yesterday, which was keeping my nurse jumping. The anesthesiologist, despite receiving a negative pregnancy test from me, opted to avoid using one drug that can cause facial and cranial deformities in fetuses. The trade off? I would be able to recall walking into the operating room and might also feel a bit more anxious without this specific medication. Not a problem… Their OR was much smaller, much less scary-looking and less frigid than the ones at St. Elizabeth’s I visited last fall. The oddest moment came when the anesthesiologist was giving me medication on the surgical table and she told me I might feel burning sensations in, er, the nether regions before falling asleep. It was then that I questioned if they were performing a tonsillectomy or not. (!?!) Fortunately, I awoke in the recovery area and all that was missing was my tonsils.

Drugs are strange things. In recovery I remember feeling like my head and body were huge, like they were filling up the room. I’m not an altered-state kind of girl… I like the feeling of a normal-sized cranium, thank you very much.

Yesterday Jeremy and I were home before lunchtime, and I was even able to eat a few Ritz and the insides of a Fairbury hot dog while my throat was all numbed up. Today, though, is another matter entirely. My upper throat is killing me and I feel like I’m speaking in a strange Marlon Brando dialect. Swallowing, while of utmost importance for hydration, is so not my friend.

What I’m wondering is, how long can an extrovert stand being silent? : )

**Note: Bloggers on narcotics are not responsible for misspelled words, poorly constructed syntax, or inappropriate admissions.