Why I Hate Sore Throats.

I don't know a single person who loves having a sore throat, but I do believe that I have a stronger hatred and fear than most when my throat begins to hurt. Right now, I am fairly certain that there are rocks sitting at the back of my tongue and that there are shards of glass protruding from my throat...if only I could open my mouth large enough that you could see it.

I am slightly traumatized in regards to sore throats, and when I explain it to people, they tend to understand.

[Note: This may be gross. Like Grey's Anatomy gross. If you get grossed out easily, don't read it.]

When I was in the 4th grade, I got tonsilitis. As happens, that led me to having my tonsils taken out. All went well enough, until it was time to go back to school after weeks off for the surgery and recovery. Well, I remember waking up on the couch, slightly earlier than normal, puking blood. After a short time, we realized that the incisions were bleeding. The stitches had disenegrated, but the incisions were not healed enough. The blood began to pour down my throat and into my stomach while I slept, causing my stomach to reject it, hence the puking of blood. When the puking slowed down, I continued to bleed from the incisions, so I had to keep spitting blood out.

Something was funny about our insurance, so instead of going to the ER which was about 15 minutes away, we went to a doctor's office that was 45 minutes away. I remember sitting in the car, continuously spitting out mouthfuls of blood and my mom having to pull into the McDonalds' drive thru, yelling at them to give her napkins.

We got to the doctor's office and they took us right to a room. Then, while I was sitting there, the doctor stuck the worlds largest needed down my throat to locally numb the area, then he proceeded to stitch or glue or cauterize my incisions. By then, I was too busy kicking and screaming, or trying to, to care what he was doing. They didn't even have time to put me under!

And, when they were done, my mom had to fill out the paperwork for the visit since we were rushed into a room. While she was doing that, I got woozy and tried to pass out from loss of blood. They took me into another room and made me lay down with my feet propped up.

On top of it all, I remember, somewhere around that time with tonsil drama, my mom told me about my stepbrother and that he had his tonsils removed twice. That he had them removed once and they grew back of something, so they had to remove them again.

So here's a valuable fear, right? I'm afraid that I'm a freak of nature that will have tonsils again and get tonsilitis and have to endure the whole thing, not once but twice!