Tonsilolliths. Look it up. (if you dare)

   I found out last Friday how awful you can feel as a parent. We woke up early to bring Connor to the hospital for a tonsillectomy. I had a hard time sleeping the night before, and walked through the hospital doors with a sick feeling that I was probably the worst parent in the world for putting my 4 yr old through something so traumatic. ON PURPOSE. I had tried a few times to explain things to him, but I knew he didn't get it. Thankfully, the nurses who prepped him were wonderful, bringing him a whole box of toys and letting him play with some of their equipment. He was very excited and loved all the attention. They gave him 'silly juice' to calm him down enough so they could get him to sleep, then put in his IV. They wheeled his bed out of the room to the OR, and I nearly cried. All we were able to do was sit in that little hospital room and hope he was doing alright. Finally, 45 long minutes later, he was carried back into the room. And he was hysterical. He wouldn't stop crying. He fought against the nurses who were trying to get his heart monitor on his finger. He practically ripped off his hospital gown. There was dried blood under his nose and around his mouth. And he kept trying to say "I want to go home!" but it came out garbled. It was awful. I was an awful, horrible mom for putting him through that. The nurses weren't able to get his readings until he calmed down, so we got him in his jammies and carried him through the halls, telling him we were walking home. That's the only thing that could ease his mind, thinking we were leaving that terrible place and going home. He had a different nurse after the surgery. She was impatient and snappy. He was so distraught! While he was crying, she kept grabbing his shoulder and saying "Connor. Be quiet. Listen to me. Pay attention!" And then while she was explaining things to Rob so he could sign the discharge papers, she said "Ugh, I can't hear a THING with that crying!" And hauled Rob into the hallway by his arm. I could have slapped that woman. As soon as we carried him down to the van he was quiet. He slept peacefully all the way home, and Rob and I took turns rocking him for the rest of the day. The next day was filled with more rocking and cuddling. By Sunday he was talking now and then, even though his words came out thick and we could hear bubbling in his throat around his voice. Since then he's been more himself. He's gotten back to playing some, and back to his Jekyll/Hyde relationship with Max. He's living off of frozen yogurt, popcicles, and Capri Suns.
   And he still loves me.