Trauma

Seven year olds are supposed be innocent. They are supposed to dander about their lives without a care in the world. They are supposed to be happy and carefree. Seven year olds are supposed to be merry little children.

But at the age of seven, I was ANYTHING but that.

Before it all happened, I had a fairly ordinary life, except, of course,for the fact i had diabetes, but since i was so young it didn't affect me much anyways. I grew up in a regular house with a family of a mum, dad and big sister.

I was a pretty smart kid. I excelled in reading, having a much older pupil take me out of class to read because my class books were far too easy for me.

I may not have been the most perfect child, or the most fortunate, but i was, really, ok.

Everything was good and well. We were all a happy family.

But that all changed when it happened. That stupid trauma. Why did it have to happen? could i have prevented it? Was it my fault? Did i deserve it?

is it really as bad as i think it is?

i don't know the answer to these questions, but i do know the answer to yours- what even happened?

Well, I suppose i can tell you now. I never talk about this, and it is a very sensitive topic, so i might stop reading sometimes because it is too much for me.

So.

I was seven at the time, as we already know. I was coping well with my diabetes, and I had some great friendships.

I used to have to sleep with stacks of pillows- and I mean STACKS- or else i literally couldn't breathe. I had a lot of trouble breathing and pretty much suffocated when i tried to do any kind of activity. Over time, this worried my parents, so they took me to the doctor's down the street. They inspected my throat and announced to me and my mother that i had tonsillitis, and my tonsils were severely inflamed. The doctor prescribed me medication, and said if it didn't work, surgery would be absolutely necessary.

She said it was nothing to worry about. They all told me that. They all told me the same thing over and over. I don't know if they were trying to pull the wool over my eyes or if they actually thought jolly fun filled times were just around the corner, but they lied. They all lied to me.

The medication, in fact, was TORTURE. I'm not just saying that like a child that says "I'm starving!" when they're mildly hungry. No. This medicine was the most horrible, pungent thing i've EVER had to take. I was convinced they were trying to poison me. Although, all medicines are poisons given in meagre portions,

right?

Anyways, I stand by the fact that taking that medicine was one of the worst things in my life.

I used to get 5+ needles stuck inside my body a day, and yes that was bad, but that couldn't compare to that medicine. It was DISGUSTING! And the worst thing about it was, it didn't even work. Not a single bit. All that torture for nothing!!

I went back to the doctor's and they decided that the medication was too inefficient, and they couldn't leave me in my terrible condition, so surgery was my one and only chance.

And i mean, of course I was a bit worried. I didn't even know what was happening. But aside from a bit of pre-op anxiety, I was happy enough, as long as it would help me breathe. I really wasn't too worried at all- I'd gone through worse at this point.

On the day of my operation, I wasn't allowed to eat, and there was a large sign in front of my clinical bed that read "DO NOT FEED." This upset me a little. I kind of felt like an animal at the zoo.

Before I knew it, I was out of the theatre. The doctors were delighted with what their minds perceived as their success. I remember one of the surgeons showing me my tonsils he had ripped out of my throat just minutes ago. He told me, "They're the biggest i've ever seen."

My mother seemed relieved. No more trouble breathing. No more restricted airflow. No more pain.

Or so she thought.

The surgeon bragged to my mother about how happy he was with the results. He said that there was nothing to worry about, but he was obliged to tell every tonsillectomy patient of the potential risks. If a little splatter of blood was noticed on my pillow, my mother should inform the hospital. He said that chances of that happening are extremely slim. He said even if it did happen there was nothing to worry about