If a doctor ever tells me that he wants to get up close and personal with my tonsils, while holding a scalpel, I'm going to run screaming for the door. I think I might rather have my tonsils swell up so large they take over my entire body than have them removed.
My little lamb slept through the night a week ago, on the very night he'd had the surgery. He's slept through every night since. But today, after three days of what seemed like good, solid progress, was more challenging. And tonight he woke up screaming. It took me several minutes to get him to explain what was wrong. In the end, this was accomplished by him pointing at his throat and shrieking.
Spit was dripping out of his mouth. Thick saliva was pooling in his cheeks. He refused to swallow anything. When we finally convinced him to swallow the Lortab, he vomited it up ten seconds later. At a loss for what to do, we put an ice pack on his throat. He fell asleep in my arms for three or four minutes and then suddenly began to sob again.
After many long minutes, we were able to get him to eat a third of a popsicle in hopes that it would numb his tender throat. Then I got another half dose of Lortab into him. (I was afraid that not all the medicine came up and I didn't want to drug him.) He laid on his daddy for a half hour and now he's sleeping soundly next to me. I have no idea what the night holds.
I am desperately hoping that his scabs are sloughing off since I was warned that his pain would increase when this happened. Needless to say, I feel so sorry for my little man.
And, also, I live in terrible fear that one day a doctor will decide that he needs my tonsils. Because, just, no.