If there was one thing I dreaded as a child, it was ear infections. There’s something particularly torturous about an intense, aching, throbbing pain that there was nothing I could do to ease. I am absolutely positive there are worse pains, but in my underage mind, there wasn’t. Throughout my formative years, I had my fair share of them, often so severe they became keystone memories for me, so when I outgrew them, I was more than relieved. Maybe even ecstatic. Growing up isn’t ALL bad.
Imagine my chagrin when those horrible ear infections started showing up again in my thirties. I’m not even joking when I said I spent three or four consecutive Christmases with ruptured eardrums because an ear infection would sneak up on me so fast that I wouldn’t know they were happening until my ear drum was so swollen, millimeters away from tearing as a result. The tiniest silver lining was that I stopped having any pain associated with them. Which, if you think about it, wasn’t actually a silver lining at all… not being able to hear properly and not knowing when there’s a raging infection that close to your brain is a tad unnerving.
When I had enough, I vowed to solve my issues. I ferreted out an ENT (Ear Nose Throat) doctor, and after treating me for a few ear infections, he suggested ear tubes. I was desperate enough to try anything. So, I endured the torturous pain of having tubes put in while I was conscious. They numbed me up good, but ironically, the numbing is what hurt like the dickens. Imagine having red hot pokers jabbed into your ear drums. Briefly, I entertained the thought of just living with ear infections. But, I endured. After I was healed up, I was semi-pleased with the results. On top of still not being able to swim with my head underwater sans ear plugs, I also continued to have the occasional ear infection. Those tiny tubes sometimes get gunked up, which makes a pretty awesome spot for bacteria to grow. Gah! So annoying.
In that stretch of time, we moved homes far enough away that I needed to find a new ENT when I had yet another ear infection. She looked in my ears, got kind of wide-eyed about how full my ear drums were, and put me on an aggressive course of antibiotics in drop form so it’d get right to the source. When my infection cleared up, she yanked out the tubes that were dangling from my ear drums, since they were never a permanent solution anyway (OWIE!), and put me on a regiment of Flonase, which is a nasal spray generally used to treat allergies. Surprise, surprise, it (mostly) worked.
With my new ENT’s help, I was down to one ear infection every year or so (sad that that’s an improvement, eh?), so when I heard about a new microballoon Eustachian tube dilation procedure, I asked her about it. She had already performed several, and her patients had all successfully recovered. Only problem? My insurance didn’t cover it. I had to wait a year for them to FINALLY get on board with the other insurance companies, and then reach my max out-of-pocket, since it was still a pretty penny.
Once I’d checked all the boxes, I got on the schedule with my ENT to do the procedure in-office. Usually, it’s a fairly minor thing, done under local anesthesia. One hour in her chair, and I’d be on my way. Though I was anxious about it, I couldn’t imagine it’d be much worse than having tubes put in. Except: problems. She numbed my nose up by shoving cotton pads up my nose that’d been soaked in numbing agent, and when she pulled them out to go up through my nostril, into my sinus, and onto my Eustachian tubes, she ran into a dead end. Literally. The left side of my nose was blocked by a deviated septum and bone spur, and both sides had swollen turbinates (the fleshy part of the sinus). No amount of numbing, poking, or slow going made a difference. There was some serious behind-the-scenes nose work that needed to be done before she could even touch my ears.
Talk about disappointed. Not only was the pain of that procedure fairly useless, I had to reschedule for a full-blown, general anesthesia procedure. I crossed my fingers that they’d be able to fit me in before the end of the year, and guess what? They could. Hooray! Except, the only two options were Claire’s birthday or December 31st. Nooooo! Two of my favorite days of the year, and I’d have to choose which one I wanted to be something akin to dreadful. After a quick discussion with Jack and my ENT’s nurse, I signed up to have it done on Claire’s birthday because it would allow me to fit in the two weeks of no-driving while Jack was off of work and have my first follow up appointment in the same calendar year (you know, to cash in on our insurance). Then, I went home and apologized to Claire, vowing her special day would still be her special day, regardless of what shape I was in.
I tried to ignore the pit in my stomach whenever I thought about my upcoming procedure, and did what I could to maintain normalcy. I worked on the house, cared for the animals, ferried kids, and chipped away at my never-ending to-do list. When the day came, I got up early enough to paint a Happy Birthday message to Claire on our window (a family tradition) and got Evelyn to school. Though I had all the intention in the world of being prepared for Claire’s birthday by making her cake beforehand, wrapping her presents, decorating the house, and having her meal prepped, I failed pretty spectacularly because I just couldn’t find the time. That’s not exactly how I wanted to start the day, but Jack reassured me with a wink and a kiss that he had it covered. He does have a way with surprises, so I chose to accept his promise and just let it go. And, besides… Claire and Kate were given permission to stay home because the surgical center wouldn’t allow Adam to be in my room. What better gift is there to a teenager than to skip school on their birthday, even if it is to babysit?
Mercifully, I was scheduled late enough in the morning that we were able to get all the younger kids to school before I had to be there. Then, because they were ahead of schedule when I arrived, I was whisked away pretty quickly after checking in. It’s no secret that I was utterly horrified at the prospect of general anesthesia… I had never been under myself, though I’ve seen plenty of animals knocked out for all kinds of surgeries when I worked for a vet in high school and college. It just freaked me out. But, with many prayers and good wishes from all sorts of family and friends, that part was hardly a blip in my day. Once they had me change, it was a flurry of IV sticks, consent forms, verbal instructions, and reassurances from doctors. Then Jack showed up within five minutes of them wheeling me back. I slid myself onto the operating table while my ENT promised me I’d breathe so much easier when all was said and done (honestly, I never noticed that I had a problem, so I had to take her word for it). The anesthesiologist laughed at my lame, nervous jokes, then told me I’d feel some burning in my chest, but that it wouldn’t last long. Right when I was going to ask him if it was normal for me to feel like I was going to spontaneously combust, I was out.
Talk about WEIRD. I was just fine one second, and the next, I’m coming out of a groggy sleep where my face hurt, I felt like barfing, and my muscles were made of Jell-o. Some people reassured me that general anesthesia is the best rest they ever got. LIES. At least for me (Jack tells me he’s had a few different types, and some aren’t as amazingly restful as others). Whatever. It didn’t matter. Even in my state of unrest, I had one clear goal in mind–GO HOME. I knew there were kids who needed to be picked up from school, and I still had a ton of stuff to do for Claire’s birthday. But, I just couldn’t shake the sleepiness. I’d close my eyes, and the next thing I’d know, it’d be twenty or thirty minutes later. Plus, my nurses–all named Lauren (including my ENT, haha)–insisted I get a few fluids and crackers down, so I could take the pain meds they were offering. I slowly obliged, though my stomach wasn’t happy about it. When I was lucid enough for my motivation to make me want to leave, I sat up, sent Jack to get the car, and forced myself into the wheelchair. I felt like an animal that’d chewed it’s foot off to escape a clamp trap, but at least I was free.
SPOILER ALERT: this paragraph gets gross… skip it if you’d like not to gag. The nurse warned me that the car ride home could be rough, and she wasn’t lying. Between battling car sickness, which always happens when I’m a passenger, and the residual nausea of the procedure, I put the barf bags to good use. Because of the nature of the surgery, any blood that escaped went right down the hatch… into my stomach. And because I’m not meant to be a self-cannibal, my body thoroughly rejected it. It was a bit shocking to see so much blood coming up, but boy did my stomach feel better once it was out. Jack did a phenomenal job carefully driving home where he deposited me on a mountain of pillows in our bed, gave instructions to Claire and Kate for how to take care of me, and was off to pick up the rest of the kids from school.
Sometimes, in our toughest trials is when we’re able to identify very real and specific blessings. Miracles, even. For one, the hustle of the morning didn’t allow me to worry long about the procedure. For another, the timing of our exit allowed for Jack to pick up everyone from school right on time. For all my lack of preparation, my family totally stepped up. Jack bought the Pad Thai, naan, and sushi Claire had requested for her birthday meal, her siblings wrapped her presents and decorated with balloons and cards, and Evelyn baked her cake. All I had to do was roll out of my bed and show up to the table with sunglasses to combat the light sensitivity, and an ice pack to ease my headache. Though *I* might not have been very fun, Claire still felt loved and celebrated.
Several people have asked me about my recovery. I would say that the pain was minimal, but there was A LOT of discomfort. Though I should have guessed, no one told me I’d have to wear a nose diaper to catch all the dripping from my sinuses. And, because my nose was plugged with gel to prevent bleeding and infection, I was obligated to be a mouth breather. It was manageable during the day, but it was torture at night. Nothing like waking up ever hour to peel my tongue off the roof of my mouth. My nose only hurt if I bumped it, which was a reminder as swift as a punch to the face. I think the worst were the headaches. Between the procedure and the aggressive course of antibiotics, I had a near-constant, daily headache that prevented me from driving, reading, writing, concentrating, watching TV, scrolling my phone, and basically left me in a fetal position in my bed when it’d get really bad. Thankfully, it’s gone now, but it made me question if it was all worth it (and for those who have migraines, I have newfound respect and empathy for you!).
Now on the other side of it, I’m glad I did it as equally as I’m glad that trial is over with. I still don’t know if I’m breathing better (but it’s definitely not worse), and I am noticing improvements in my ears. They don’t click and pop like they used to when I swallow, for one. The hope is I’ll heal completely, so much so that I could entertain the possibility of scuba diving (something Jack has been dying to try for years). The real test will be whether or not I get ear infections, which will happen with time. If nothing else, my funky septum has been set straight. Having an internal nose job was an experience for sure… one that hopefully put an end to the ear aches that were the bane of my childhood.
A HUGE thank you for all those who prayed, sent well-wishes, checked up on me, sent meals, expressed their love for me, and took care of us while I was useless. I was reminded how wonderful my friends and family are, and am so blessed to have all of you! A huge high-five to my own family–there’s something humbling about the people I normally watch over taking an acute interest in my well-being, and for Jack taking over my job until I was able to step up again. So many tender mercies and miracles that I will always cherish! 💕
