...Which is why this post doesn't really have to make sense. After putting it off for two years, I recently had my tonsils removed. It's true what they say about having it done when you're an adult: slow death.
Some are under the mistaken impression that a tonsillectomy means two solid weeks of comfort food. Not so. Ice cream creates phlegm. Blended soup looks like dished up diarrhea. One can only take so much Jell-O. And popsicles just aren't that great if you're not ten. My only true source of comfort has come in the form of a gigantic white bottle of liquid pain medication.
Having never taken pain killers before and (more importantly) having grown up loud and proud in the Nancy Reagan era, I've always "just said no" to drugs. This time however, Nancy and I have parted ways. This time, I have stepped over into the sweet abyss that is Roxicet one half hour before trying to force something as simple as water down the tube of open flesh that used to be my throat.
♥
Now all of you red-ribbon wearers, do not despair. There will come a day (give me a week or so) where I will be able to swallow mashed potatoes without shrieking. When that day comes, I will happ'ly put down my 500 ml bottle of syrupy, red liquid morphine- and walk away forever.
Until that day, you can find us here:
Just say yes.
