My apologies for the radio silence. I have been cut open, sewn up, and neared death more than once. Then, I completely lost my marbles, moved in with my parents, was babied by my mommy and moved back home, only to be tortured by my babies.

That’s right, I got my tonsils out.

I work at a hospital where I regularly interact with some of the world’s top physicians and surgeons. When I told them I’d be out for a couple of weeks to have the procedure–the reaction was NEVER good.

Here are some ACTUAL responses from docs and/or nurses here at the hospital:

“Yikes!”

“You are going to feel like you are swallowing shards of glass.”

“I am SO sorry. I will pray for you.”

“It’s worse pain than childbirth or kidney stones, you know that, right?”

“It’s the worst surgical recovery possible. Your C-section will seem like a day at the park.”

“Recovery for kids is SO much easier.” –thanks for telling me that TWENTY FIVE YEARS AGO

“Great! You won’t be able to talk!”–from one of my favorite surgeons and part-time heckler

“You are going to be planning my death the first week post-op.”–from my actual ENT surgeon that took ‘em out

After heeding such ominous warnings one might think that I would change my mind. But the wheels were in motion. I was having the same Strep Throat infection 4-5 times a year. I was really sick with throat-related infections the last two Christmases. The final straw, for me, was that I kept passing infections to the babies. I’d get well while they were sick, then they’d give it back to me, just as they were getting better. It was a vicious cycle. We were a big hot (literally) feverish, drugged-up mess. It had to stop.

So I did it. I had the surgery. As they wheeled me into the operating room, happy as a clam, being pumped full Versed, I had thoughts of grandeur, about how awesome I was for making such a great sacrifice for my family. It can’t be THAT bad, right? I can do this. Then I nodded quietly off to sleep.

When I opened my eyes, I gasped. There had to have been some mistake. A scalpel had been left in my throat. That was the only explanation. I opened my mouth to tell Rob to get help and nothing came out. There wasn’t a scalpel there, of course, but it sure as HECK felt like it. And remained that way until two days ago, which, just as a frame of reference, was 11 days post-op.

You see, with most surgeries, the pain is the worst in the beginning, then gets better each day. That is SO not what happened. In fact, by day four, I was ready to die just to find relief. I stayed with my parents for almost a week, who lovingly took care of me when I can confidently say I was at my worst. Ever. The whole thing was a sleepy, sweaty, painful blur. Every sip was so painful, I would gag, and whatever I was trying to drink would dribble out of my nose.

Even though I am still drinking Ensure* as my meals, I am on my way to recovery. I am back at work and 12 pounds lighter (although this isn’t exactly a viable weight-loss option–I suggest lap band or something WAY less painful.)

I am not writing this to scare anyone out of a tonsillectomy. I wanted to share the TRUTH so that you know what to expect. It was horrible, but in the totally worth it. It has made me stronger. My family and I will be healthier. Seriously if I can get through that, I can get through anything. And so can you.

When I came back to work, a colleague of mine said, “Pain must agree with you. You look great.”

“Thanks,” I said sheepishly, secretly knowing it was the narcotics.

*I was not in any way compensated by Ensure, but IF the lovely folks at Ensure want to send me a couple free cases, I’ll totally take it. It’ll be another few weeks that I am on this liquid/soft food diet. Just sayin.

…just puppets. Read more in my post at OC Family.

Wanna make your own comic? It’s easy, check out Toonlet.

Let’s face it. Things around here are busy and getting busier. We’ve had an incredibly busy and hectic month, with lots of ups and downs. I’m not going to lie–I’ll be happy to see the month end next week.

Abby is finally teething, which makes me happy (READ: glad that she isn’t teething in 11 weeks when we also have a screaming newborn). But I am in a sort of downward spiral. She has stopped sleeping for longer than a two-hour spurt at night. And she doesn’t just wake up with a whimper. It’s a full-fledged, teary howl that is enough to push even the most sane (which I don’t claim to be) mom over the edge. Poor Abby, she’s got five teeth coming in all at the same time. I’d be fussy, too.

It isn’t like I can look forward and say “at least in June I’ll be able to sleep.” I am thinking a little more long term, like “when the girls are in college and don’t live here anymore, I’ll be able to sleep.”

But just because she screams and keeps me up all night, it doesn’t mean that I get to skip work the next day. Professional Pam is supposed to show up looking put together. In clean, pressed business clothes, and shoes that aren’t Uggs or Old Navy flip flops. As my belly grows, it’s getting harder to fit into anything that looks presentable, or shoes that fit. And the WORST part is that I have a job that requires focus and brainpower. So the whole half-asleep thing doesn’t really fly. But I make it work because I have to–even though by the time Friday night comes, I find myself literally thanking God that I didn’t keel over that week.

A dear friend here at work (who shall remain nameless) told me once that she had a plan to shut her office door and take a nap under her desk, a la George Costanza. She would take a handful of paperclips with her so that if someone came in or knocked, she could simply explain that she had dropped the paperclips under her desk and she was picking them up.

I have so many pictures to post, but they are very random and spread out over the last month. I promise to upload some recent pics with some quirky photo captions sometime in the next couple of days. But if you need me in the meantime, I’ll just be here under my desk picking up paperclips.