My First Hospital Stay

I was a pretty sick kid. I had (and continue to have) pretty bad allergy issues and I always had puffy, watery eyes. Every Fall, my school pictures were horrible because my eyes were so awful. Aside from the allergy problems, I also was a frequent visitor to the Strep Throat Club.

And when I say frequent, I mean like once or twice a month.

Finally, my pediatrician decided it was time to get my tonsils out.

I think I was about 7 years old. I remember in the weeks beforehand I had to go to a different doctor's office and watch a video about the whole thing and how they will put you under anesthesia and that your throat will hurt and you can get a popsicle and all that jazz. I was pretty pumped.

(Side note, did you know that redheads require more anesthesia than the average person? True story!)

(Also, the man who administered my epidural when having Ellie did not know this fun fact.)

(Actually, he did know it, he just didn't know that I was a natural redhead.)

(I'm pale and freckled, what other hair color could I possibly naturally have?)

(Moving on.)

The day of the surgery was St. Patrick's Day. They gave me a green gown so no one would pinch me. My mom sat with me in the pre-op area and held my hand. She told me that when this was over I wouldn't have to go to the doctor so much anymore. I was totally on board with that. I remember she sang:

All night, all day
Angels watching over me, my Lord
All night, all day
Angels watching over me

And then they wheeled me back. For some reason, the last thing I thought of as they put the mask on my face was Snow White getting a poisoned apple. And then I fell asleep.

It was over pretty quick. I woke up and cried and immediately asked for my mom and for a popsicle. I immediately threw up that popsicle so that was a major letdown. My grandparents came and brought me a yellow bunny wearing a yellow dress. After a few hours, they took me home, my Daddy carried me into the house and I was very glad that all of that was over.

A few weeks later, my dad came upstairs on a Sunday morning to wake me up for church. I remember it was weird because he suddenly picked me up and carried me downstairs, which was odd since I was 7. He got down to my parents' bathroom where my mom was doing her hair. He said "What's the doctor's number?"

"Why do you need the doctors number?"

(Lots of whispering)

(I start to get mad cause I was told there would be no more doctor visits.)

And off to the ER we went.

Apparently, when Dad got upstairs to wake me up, my pillow was covered in blood. One of the incisions wasn't healing properly and I was bleeding all night. Because they had no idea how much blood I had lost/swallowed, they decided I needed to be admitted.

For 2 days.

Problem: I felt fine.

Like, as in, I felt totally normal. Like a normal, hyper, healthy, 7 year old girl.

Yet they continued to come in and treat me like a hospital patient.

And they continued to come draw blood what seemed like every 10 minutes.

Pastors from my church came to visit and pray over me, and Mom had to tell me to sit in the bed and act sick. Not that she wanted me to be sick, but maybe it would be weird if pastors were coming to pray over  a child that was jumping on the beds.

My best friend Lindsee and her mom came to visit me in the hospital. Lindsee was so freaked out, she didn't speak. No, seriously. She literally didn't speak in that hospital room. Just sat there next to her mom, panicked. No speaking.

"Lindsee, do you want to say goodbye to Jenny and tell her that you hope she feels better soon?"

Silence.

That's okay. I wasn't feeling all that sick anyways.

Anyhoo, they eventually cut me loose and I had to miss a lot of school, including a field trip and I was ROYALLY ticked off about that whole thing, but clearly I'm fine and I didn't have Strep throat for 23 years after that.

So now, every St. Patrick's Day, I think about that silly green gown.

And my sweet parents.

And how very obnoxious I must have been in that hospital room for 48 hours.