Something's Fishy

I have known for a long while that my youngest son has suffered from enlarged adenoids. In 7 years I have never seen him breathe with his mouth closed and he could beat his father in a snoring contest hands down (not an easy task, I assure you). I was putting off making an ENT appointment because he doesn't have the strongest constitution. To put it mildly, he FREAKS OUT. 

One time he was walking through the kitchen holding a steak knife blade out. I reprimanded him telling him he should be more careful because he could've "accidentally stabbed me." The look that passed over his face was utter panic. I could see that his little brain was visualizing his beloved mother bloody, writhing in pain, and ultimately perishing  all because of his negligence. He covered his ears, looked at the floor, shook his head as if to banish the thought. He begged me never to speak of such awful things ever again. He learned to hold a knife correctly and I learned to be extraordinarily careful what language I use with him to get my point across. The word "stab" or any if it's derivatives is overkill...I mean...excessive. 

We had discussed surgery. Hubby had great fun telling him all about the "hooked forks" the doctor would use to "rip 'em out".  I had no fun trying to convince him Daddy was just kidding. But he had seen his sister go through the same thing a few years ago, and he said he was ready to breathe properly. So I caved and made the appointment for a consultation. The morning of his appointment rolled around and I woke him early to get ready. I explained that he wasn't having surgery, just meeting the doctor. I don't think I did a good job communicating because right after the conversation he promptly threw up. 

After calming his fears Hubby and I managed to get out the door and to the appointment on time. We were the first ones in the waiting room but it wasn't long before we were joined by a little boy about one year old and his mom. Buddy #2 tried to befriend the little guy but the baby's shyness overpowered his obvious interest in the toys and he remained steadfastly in his mother's lap. I believe the mom felt bad that her son wouldn't respond to the invitation so she struck up a conversation with Buddy #2.

"So, what grade are you in?"

"Three."

"Wow! Grade three? You look young to be in grade three! (She looked at me quizzically so I told her we homeschool). You must be working really hard."

"Nope, not really."

Why do they always do that?!

I felt compelled to hurriedly explain that  he completed kindergarten and grade one in one year and we had some time off due to his father's injury.  She had seen Hubby on the way in. He was banished to the hallway due to not being able to remove his outdoor shoes. She nodded and chuckled. We enjoyed some lovely conversation before my buddy was beckoned. 

He took a seat in the dentist style chair inside and looked around at some intimidating equipment. I thought for sure he was going to try to bolt so I quickly pointed out the scariest looking thing in the room. Attached to the wall was a tube full of "goo" and resting inside of it was a long scope. I explained that it was the very piece of equipment this doctor had used to diagnose my vocal nodules. His interest was piqued! I told him there was a tiny camera on the end and the doctor had put the long flexible part up my nose and down my throat and asked me to hum. 

"Did it hurt?" He wanted to know.

"Not really, it was just uncomfortable. But you don't need to have that done anyway." I assured him.

I had distracted him just long enough. By the time I finished speaking the doctor walked in the room. A tiny, stylish and friendly Italian lady gave my son a very warm greeting. She called him by his full name which is actually comprised of three last names and quite a mouthful. She asked him what he planned to be when he grew up since he has such a distinguished name to attach to his profession. He was smitten. I could see the apprehension melt away. She asked if he had seen any other doctors and he was excited to say, "Oh, yes! Dr. Z is my doctor and he is AMAZING."

 She gave a slight smile, agreed he is pretty good, and said she hoped to measure up. Then she sat back in her chair and very casually said, "Well, sir. Tell me your story."

He followed suit, sat back in the examining chair and in his maturest, most business-like voice said, "It all started way back when I was 4." 

I just listened as he recounted all of his adenoidial woes. The inability to close his mouth for an extended period of time. His brother and roommate's constant complaints about his excessive nighttime noise making. The malnutrition he experiences due to not being able to swallow "stringy" food. (Somehow cooked carrots fall into this category).

The doctor listened patiently then took a look at the offending lymphatic tissue. She agreed that they were pretty huge and said he was an excellent candidate for surgery. He was ok with this line of conversation until she mentioned the hospital and putting him to sleep. 

"Oh, you don't need to go to all that trouble!" He offered anxiously. "I'll just come back to this room! You can shut off all the lights and close to door. I'll go right to sleep all on my own, I promise!"

With incredible composure she explained it was a little more complicated than that. That she needed to make sure he stayed asleep. Then she described how they use and electrical pulse to remove the adenoids. He was still unsure but fascinated at the same time. 

After she was finished putting his mind at ease the doctor asked if her new patient thought she measured up to Dr. Z. He leaned in close and said, "You're even BETTER!." They agreed to keep that just between the two of them. 

We went back out to Hubby still seated in the hallway "naughty chair". Buddy #2 couldn't wait to tell him everything he learned. After recounting the information about electrical pulses (NOT hooked forks) that familiar glimmer showed up in my jokster-husband's eyes...."So, she told you all about the eels?"

"Eels?" He asked trepidaiously. 

"Yeah, the miniature medical electric eels the put up your nose. Where do you think they get the electric pulses from?"

My son looked up at me with eyes full of distress.....Next time Hubby stays home.