Due to a lack of time and an abundance of pain, my blog has been pretty dry these last thirteen days. A writer can pull excuses out of a hat to explain a stall on production, but mine are real (as I’m sure they all say). But, after seeing “Collateral Beauty” in theaters I was filled with motivation to do my life well, in honor of those who cannot. So I hopped onto WordPress and felt the passion I have flood to the tips of my freshly manicured fingers. Here goes nothing. On the 22nd of December, I shakily walked into a hospital fairly close to home. My feet felt like bricks, heavy and dense. My tummy was rumbling like the mountains giving birth to baby rocks. I cracked a few jokes, as I always do when fear comes around, and smiled at my dad who gave me the strength to, for lack of a better word, crush my surgery. I went through normal protocol along side my parents- signing consent forms, nervously starring at cups awaiting to be peed in, and undressing into a P.A.P.E.R. gown… yes paper. My first nurse led me to a pre-op room, where I reclined in a nice hospital lounger, with worn leather and germs only God can name. Here, I whined about the IV and pretended I was watching Good Morning America in my kitchen rather than an icky room with sticky floors. I met with doctors and nurses, confirming that yes, I was indeed having a procedure slicing portions of my throat off. The good thing about this part was that the hospital gifted me a pair of nice purple socks with white grippers on the bottom, and hugging bears for detail, talk about fashion. Quickly, an hour soared by and I was escorted to surgery. I turned towards my parents at the corridor and made a face that read “help me, I’m being led to torture.” Less dramatically, my male nurse showed me to my surgical room, which was brighter than a Monday morning after a snowstorm. I laid down on a t-shaped bed, or lack there of considering it was quite skinny, and spread my arms outward. I prepared mentally for the rapidly approaching IV. The anesthesiologist reassured me by explaining that he would numb the area first. My narrow thinking lead me to believe that this meant a nice ointment would be slowly massaged into the preferred area… wrong. Instead of one needle. I now had two to fear. So, the female “grandma” nurse attempted to calm me down with talk of college and my future (little does she know this stresses me out more) while the anesthesiologist pricked me twice. My fears were again soothed and rendered stupid, for it was easy as pie. The last thing I remember in this room was counting in Spanish as they lulled me to sleep. My Spanish V talents had finally paid off, and I’m positive I impressed the genius doctors around me. The next thing, vivid in my mind, was waking up in the recovery “room” with walls of curtains. They made an exception for my adolescent self and allowed my mom to visit early. You will have to ask her for a full recap of my loopy self, but I can assure you I was quite obnoxious. I do not remember much, but from my fuzzy thoughts and my moms hilarious recap my awakening consisted of sassy hand gestures for more ice chips, back and forth banter of if I look more like Megan Fox or Angelina Jolie, and rude comments spoken a little to loudly about a man with bandages over his eye. One nurse from my hometown was even nice enough to bring me an Icee, and of course this made me feel incredibly special. I was finally wheeled back into yet another room, in what I called a “fancy” chair. Here another nurse informed me of the side effects and urged I do not use my phone- which pissed me off just a tad. She also warned that if my throat wounds reopened, leading to major blood flow, that an ambulance would be necessary. Note to current nurses out there, try not to scare the girls coming off of anesthesia. We went home, after what seemed like forever, and the moment I set my eyes on the living room couch I was out like a light. Things didn’t get better from here. The days seemed long and I slept for most of them. Day three, Christmas Eve, was incredibly painful. And I believe day four was even worse. Now things have died down, and the pain is tolerable. I didn’t get addicted to Oxycontin, on the bright side, and I reiterated the notions in my head that dubbed my parents as extraordinary. I seriously could not have done this without them. From waking up at insane hours of the night to thousands of trips up and down the stairs, my mom has done it all. A few days into recovery I experienced some extreme sadness, clearly underestimating the intensity of surgery, pain, and time associated with healing. Unfortunately this experience was worsened due to either the negative effects after medicine or a bug caught at the hospital. For your safety I will just say this left me in the bathroom for hours on end. Overall, everything went okay. I am thankful that this has gifted me a wide airway and hopefully no more pain, I am also extremely happy that the surgery went smoothly. I have spent a lot of time on the couch and in bed, slurping down hot and cold liquids, while continuously longing for pizza. My new laptop has been a boredom stopper, and it has made me feel like my blogging is more impactful, like I am even more a writer than before, if that is possible. The journey is not over. I am still waiting for the scabs to fall, potentially swallowing them whole *gag.* And I am anticipating a quiet New Years. Nothing that I cannot handle. If I can make it through a Telephonectomy (the removal of a cell phone immediately after surgery for an extended period of time), the taste of three day old yogurt constantly in my mouth, and random spurts of intense tiredness, then I can make it through well anything, but most importantly what is to come regarding the recovery. Again, I would like to thank everyone who has helped me through this tough time (don’t judge this is one of the hardest surgeries ever) and to everyone who held me in their thoughts on the big day. I am surrounded by the most wonderful people in the world. Wonderfully, I will never forget this crazy two weeks thanks to my blog. As 2017 looms closer I hope to remain positive towards the rest of my tonsil journey and all that is to come. I think I may need my throat to be healed later on in January for some celebratory yelling, if you know what I mean, fingers crossed, knock on wood (shoot I just made myself nervous again). I have not done this yet, but also thank you to everyone who reads this, likes my posts, and pushes me as a writer to be literally brilliant.