I’m warning you . . . if you’re grossed out easily, do NOT read this. However, if you liked the pimple thread, this is the place for you.
Last Wednesday, my right tonsil popped like a zit. A big chunk of something that looked like overcooked egg noodle came right out when I poked it with my finger (hey, it felt good). More stuff came out Thursday night. All in all, it was satisfying. I could open my estachian tube again. Swallowing was easier, and my throat hurt less.
On the right side.
On the left side of my throat, I’m looking at a case of cystic throat acne with tinges of Black Death. It’s gruesome. It pulses. It glows. I want soooooooo badly to get back there with a needle and see if I can’t clear it out, but I can’t manage to touch anything on that side without getting an instantaneous gag reflex.
To top it off, since then my sinuses and my lungs have gathered up some sort of cruddy infection, and I KNOW it’s my tonsil’s fault. I’m hacking up green stuff, and my tonsil is giggling away maniacally, secure in the knowledge that it can take me out whenever it likes to.
Everyone older than me nods knowingly when I mention this and says “oh, yeah, I got my tonsils out when I was five”. Yeah, well, by the time I was a kid, they weren’t yanking them that often any more, so now I may have to get them removed as an adult, and that is A Very Big Deal. So much so that my mom has already volunteered to take time off to nurse me back to health.
In the meantime, my voice is on its way out, my left ear is this close to an otitis media, I’m running a low grade fever, and my eighth graders are most likely going to spend the day mocking me.
Die, tonsils. Die.