I had my tonsils taken out when I was nine. Literally. They checked me into the hospital on the Sunday afternoon before my birthday. They gave me a beautiful doll from Phillips Toy Mart, a Madame Alexander, I believe it was. When her head came off...This was not a good omen.
Everything about the hospital was a horror. In the room with me was a moaning girl I never saw, always surrounded by a curtain. Mama said, in that way she used when she was lying, that the girl had an accident on her bicycle. Poor Mama. She was within a week of her due date, hugely pregnant, and had to stay the night watching over me.
Poor me. Clear liquids for supper and then the enema. No explanation, just torture. I certainly never connected it with the odd-smelling stuff they used the next day to put me to sleep. Ether may have been a miracle drug when it was introduced for surgery, but it was a far cry from today's relatively safe anesthesia cocktails. There's not much I remember. The mask over my face, a cone actually. The smell was sweet and cool. Someone asked me questions: my name, my school. I was embarrassed because I answered with the school I used to go to and not my new one. Count backwards.
Then it was all over but the hurting. Back to the room and I didn't care if it was clear liquids because swallowing hurt. There was a replacement doll, not so fine, but with blonde hair and pearls. Another night in the hospital before it was pronounced safe for me to go home where I received my promised ice cream.
Two nights later and I was awakened and dumped at my grandparents house. Forget the tonsils! It's a baby brother.
Altogether, I was out of school for three weeks, and by then it was almost Thanksgiving.
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