I’ve spent the last (almost) four weeks documenting exactly how recovery has gone after I had my tonsils removed at the foolish age of 37. While my recovery has been smooth, I hit upon quite a few surprises along the way, and found myself overflowing with questions that weren’t always easy to google answers for. So I’ve made a list! In case anyone else finds them awake on a steroids-high at 3am googling “why is my tongue white?”
1. DRINK DRINK DRINK
Okay, so they totally tell you this, but it is SO important I’m going to tell you too. It hurts. Do it anyway. I asked the doctor if I could somehow inflict damage upon myself by trying too hard to drink through the pain. He said no. Drink so you have to get up and pee every couple hours. If you’re not peeing every couple hours, drink more. It will help you get well faster. Do it.
2. Your drugs might make you sick.
Chances are good your doc will prescribe you some very nice painkillers. Narcotics. Y’know, opioides. These drugs have a reputation both for being so addictive they’re causing the downfall of society, and also of causing nausea in certain people. It’s common to feel nauseated in the first 30 or so hours after your surgery because of the anesthesia, but if the nausea continues or makes it impossible for you to keep your drugs and water down, call your doctor. Even at 2am. They pay people to answer those calls. Your doctor can prescribe something that won’t make you sick, and trust me when I tell you that you don’t want to be yacking with a couple holes in your throat.
3. You’re going to have to wake up in the middle of the night to take drugs.
It sucks. Do it anyway. Keeping on top of your painkillers is going to make your life much better. Deciding, “aw, I’m too sleepy to sit up and measure it out and choke it down” results in waking up a few hours later full of pain and regret. And that pain won’t just go away when you take your next dose (which will be extra hard to swallow). You’re going to need a few doses to catch back up. Set your alarm. Pre-measure your doses. Just do it.
4. Looking at your tonsils in the mirror is scary.
The doctor just did some crazy-ass things to the back of your mouth. It’ll look a little like someone took a couple bites out of you and then painted on a coat of white, alien mucus. Give ’em a good look anyway, because it’s useful to see how things start so you can track your progress. Keep a flashlight in the bathroom, it’s much easier than trying to use your phone.
5. You’re going to turn into a mouth breather.
You know your uvula, that funny little thing that dangles at the back of your mouth? After your surgery, it’s going to swell up to the size of a thumb and take up permanent residence on top of your tongue. No more dangling. Well, it turns out this enormous floppy thing is now big enough to get in the way of your nasal passages, and so you will inevitably find yourself waking up with your mouth open like a caveman, everything inside parched dry as toast. Two useful tips:
Get a humidifier and set it up right by your bed. At least that way you’re sucking in a little water along with all that dry air.
Procure a large number of pillows and arrange them so you can sleep like an old Victorian man afraid of snoring in the devil.
The more upright you can arrange a sleeping position, the less likely your uvula is to get in the way. I found five pillows did the job. Also: keep a drink on the nightstand so you can remoisten if you wake up parched in the middle of the night.
6. You should brush your teeth.
It’s going to take a little awkward maneuvering at first, but this is going to make your life much nicer. Avoid gargling, but give those teeth and your tongue a good scrubbing. There shouldn’t be anything in those zones you can damage, though do be gentle and cautious.
7. Your tongue is going to turn white.
This happens to just about everyone on a soft foods diet. It turns out that crunching up your food actually helps keep your tongue clean and free of bacteria. When you don’t chew on anything abrasive for awhile, a slimy white coating will probably appear. It isn’t dangerous or a symptom of anything particularly bad, but it is rather uncomfortable. Crunching on ice may help a little, and see above note about brushing your teeth.
8. Laughing will hurt.
I expected things like coughing and sneezing to be unpleasant, but it never even crossed my mind that it would hurt to laugh. Choose your Netflix queue accordingly.
9. It could be awhile before you want to talk.
The doc told me I could start talking right away, but even though you can do something doesn’t mean you’re going to want to. Talking will strain your throat, so you may be more comfortable if you avoid it for awhile. Keep a notebook handy to write notes to your caretakers. This is one of the very few times in your life it will be socially acceptable to send a text message to someone sitting in the same room as you. I think I started talking again after about ten days. I sounded like a four-year-old with a speech impediment for about a week, but at least that’s sort of charming?
10. Healing is gross.
Remember when I mentioned that looking at the back of your throat is scary? Well, when all that alien mucus starts to disintegrate, it’s also going to be very, very gross. I won’t describe it for you in any detail, because that won’t help it be any less gross. Just remember that in this case, gross is good. Gross equals healing.
11. Healing might make you bleed like a victim in a horror movie.
Keep a close eye on your throat during the gross phase. This is the time when you are at highest risk to develop a bleeding problem. I got lucky and my scabs disintegrated bit by bit over the course of a couple weeks. Sometimes, a scab can peel off all at once, before it’s ready, and that might cause bleeding. If it happens while you’re sleeping, you might wake up with a mouth full of blood.
Do Not Panic.
If you discover that you’re bleeding, start by holding ice-cold water at the back of your throat (like you’re going to gargle, but without the actual gargling part). This will shrink the blood vessels and hopefully stop the bleeding. Do this five or six times (if you can’t just hold the water there, go ahead and gargle gently). Check your throat again. If the bleeding has not stopped, head on over to your local emergency room. You’re not on the brink of death, so don’t panic, but you do need to get the bleeding stopped, and the emergency room is the quickest way to make sure that happens.
12. You’re gonna be hungry.
There will be a stretch of days during the first and second weeks when eating is going to be really, really hard. Swallowing anything with more texture than water might become so unpleasant that you stop doing it altogether. If this happens, it’s double-extra-important to make sure you’re staying hydrated.
But just because you can’t eat doesn’t mean you won’t want to eat. Refrain from watching too much TV, because the pizza commercials will taunt you mercilessly. Do try finding ways to consume calories with no texture. Protein drinks, pudding, jello, smoothies made with protein powder, chocolate almond milk, and coconut cream (my personal favorite), straight broth, anything you can think of that will go down. It’ll probably take a little trial and error. I found that protein drinks stung, so even though I could physically swallow them, I did not want to. Keep trying things until you find something that works.
13. You’re going to lose weight. Fast.
When the calories won’t go down, you’re going to lose some weight. If you can afford to lose the weight, there’s not much to be worried about. If you are concerned you’re losing too much weight, call your doctor. She may be able to recommend ways to get more calories or to prescribe something that will help (hellooooo, steroids!)
14. You’ll have good days and bad days, and they won’t go in order.
Hang in there. You’ll get better bit by bit, and the bad days will happen less often. Leave yourself plenty of time to rest. Don’t feel bad about taking lots of naps. Your body needs as much energy as you can give it to heal itself.
And now, a section of things that aren’t things no one told me, but that are really useful tips to repeat anyway:
1. Stock up on squishy things to eat. Especially popsicles. I could eat popsicles when everything else failed me. Also consider: jello, apple sauce, protein drinks, blended soups, broth, pudding (tapioca!), ingredients for very-smooth smoothies (protein powder, non-dairy milks, peanut butter, coconut milk/cream, etc), gravy, cream of wheat. You’ll get bored of these things, but a calorie is a calorie.
2. Be cautious with dairy during the first week. It can mix up with the bits of anesthesia left in your system and make you feel nauseated. Beyond that, it can cause you to be more mucus-y, which makes you want to clear your throat, which you shouldn’t do. If you’re dying for a bowl of ice cream, start small, make sure it sits all right. Dairy was one of the only things that did sit well with me during the second week. Mysterious.
3. Cold things will help with the swelling, but warm things are soooo soothing. As long as cold makes you feel good, keep it up. When you just need to be comforted, consider a nice warm (not hot) mug of tea or coco or whatever you like warm.
4. Make sure you have a couple pairs of crazy-comfy clothes easily on hand. You’re not going to want to dress like a real human being for at least a week, and you don’t have to! Comfort is #1 during this thing. I may or may not have spent a week wearing onesie pajamas with dancing snowmen on them.
5. Take as many naps as you can. While you’re napping, you aren’t thinking about how much your throat hurts, how much you hate drinking, and how hungry you are.
6. Keep a flashlight in the bathroom, the better to examine your progress every time you go to pee.
7. Once you’re ready to graduate to semi-real foods, think soft. Overcooked noodles (ramen was my favorite, angel-hair and egg noodles are also good options), mashed potatoes, eggs, oatmeal, crust-less bread. Add gravy or sauce for variety. Fruit might be good, though it can be acidic so try a tiny bite before you commit.
8. Be prepared to grovel in gratitude before the person (people) who take care of you. They are awesome. Make sure they know you know.
And thus we reach the end of my overly long series of tonsillectomy posts. Good luck, and feel better soon!
(Mysteriously, I could not find a gif for “dancing tonsils” to end with. My apologies.)