Not quite so bloody, but bloody painful
After suffering from on/off sinus and throat infections for years, my GP decided that my tonsils and I would be much better off if we parted company at the tender age of twenty five.

A few weeks later I received a card inviting me to sample the tender mercies of the NHS while my back of mouth gubbins were removed. I duly packed my things and presented myself at the hospital, only to find that they don't fuck about in the NHS, within an hour of my arrival I was being plied with some rather excellent pre-med drugs.

Fuck knows what they were, but normally taciturn me was attempting to flirt rather outrageously with the very comely anaesthetist while being wheeled into the operating theatre.

*Off Topic* If anyone knows what these pre-med drugs were, or where I can get some more then please Gaz me

Where was I? Ah yes, the comely brunette anaesthetist. Moving swiftly as I asked her for her number, she shoved a cannula in my hand and I felt something colder than Alister Darling's heart coursing through my veins.

As rebuffals go, this was probably my most spectacular to date as I was unconscious before I could say "Has anyone ever told you you're lovely?".

Then it all went ink black and the sound of the lovely lady doctor's voice faded as if moving off into the distance...

"We need to get something done about ^{those pre-meds.} _{He's the third one this week"}

Moments later, I recall being dimply aware of being aware of something, before it all began to slowly slide into hazy focus.

My eyesight slowly began to return, along with the feeling in my body, which I quickly regretted as I realised my throat felt like I'd been fellating a particularly girth-some elephant, wearing a 350 grade carborundum condom.

The inky blackness beckoned again, but not before I apparently requested a bottle of vodka from a passing nurse in a voice which seemed to belong to Baron Greenback, then everything fell back into focus once more.

My then g/f turned up to visit, apparently the nurse had taken her aside and warned her that the operation had been particularly traumatic for me. Apparently I was grey and the plastic curtains around my bed were spattered with blood. I am sure I later found the doctor's footprints embossed in my chest.

Then the pain in my throat really began to kick in...

However, I bravely requested "Chicken Curry" from the menu and was taking painful and slow bites within six hours of regaining consciousness. All seemed good, despite the scraping pains whenever I swallowed (and it's amazing how often you have to swallow, especially when it's absolutely the last thing you want to do), so the next morning I grabbed a bath and slowly pulled the cannula from the vein in my hand.

No squirting of blood to be seen, not even a gentle ooze.

Taking this as my cue, I discharged myself and nearly being mistaken for a pervert I phoned my folks to let them know m g/f was bringing me home.

Back at home, my mother decided that she was going to cook me an easy to eat meal. She was under orders to make absolutely, expressly sure that there was no peppers, chilli powder or indeed anything spicier than a simple tomato in the meal.

"Oh, yes I'll make absolutely sure there's nothing that'll hurt you in it!" she replied enthusiastically, after I'd again explained the presence of raw wounds at the back of my mouth which were angrier than a pub full of Glaswegians during an old firm derby.

Ten seconds later, I gently lifted a forkfull of pasta and sauce to my lips, began to chew slowly and attempted to swallow.

"Jesusfuckingchrist!" I screamed in ascending pitch, as I clawed at my throat and jumped from the table.

It was as if someone had forced my mouth open and had stabbed at the dangly thing at the back of my mouth with a red hot poker. This was worse even than football-in-the-testicles pain.

"Fuck" [wheeze] "Fuck" [gasp] "Fuck" [wheeze] I hoarsely exclaimed as I held my head under the sink to the sink pouring water into my tortured mouth as fast as I could go.

Apparently, while cooking the pasta she'd absentmindedly made use of the a new and rather well filled pepper grinder in her kitchen.

Cheers for that one mum.
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Thu 7 Aug 2008, 16:56, 2 replies)

Bloody hell!
When I had my tonsils out (aged 8, admittedly) they made me eat ready salted crisps and ice cream. YAY!

I was there for a week. And I vomited a LOT of blod (although I think they have changed the tool they use now to stop you swallowing it.)
( Devil_In_Tights the *real* DiT!, Thu 7 Aug 2008, 17:05, closed)

Bastards, the lot of 'em
"Oooh, it'll be all ice cream and jelly," they said, family, friends and teachers. "Nice things to soothe the pain in your throat."

Was it fuck. Dry toast, cornflakes with no milk etc. Apparently medical thinking had moved on, and constant abrasion would stimulate the wounds to heal quicker.

Eight-year-old me was not impressed.
(wellgroomedwookiee is a filthy-minded hobgoblin, Fri 8 Aug 2008, 12:02, closed)