Half a Story about Half a Tonsillectomy
The following account has been fact checked by real American patriots. It is 100% true.
This page contains graphic description of medical procedures. Reader discretion is advised!!
I think people assume I perform surgery impulsively. This couldn‘t be further from the truth. Surgery is an intimate and spiritual experience, and I do not take it lightly. I must take the time to know exactly what I’m doing. I must respect myself and the craft by doing it exactly right. I need plans and backup plans, I need research and inventive spark.
More than anything I need to wait for the right time. I learned the hard way, through a failed trepanation, that surgery and instant gratification do not mix. Medical knowledge is not enough, desire for change is not enough. I can’t just want it, I have to NEED it. Every sign must point to yes. I need every voice from the stars and trees and rocks to sing, DO IT NOW! Life cannot go on unless you do it! And I can’t go outside without hearing it, and I know all the stars are aligned, and now I can perform the procedure.
This is uncharted medical territory. I have never found a record of anyone performing a tonsillectomy on themselves. Many people have drilled holes in their heads, and published books and articles about it. I was simply following in the footsteps of the enlightened. Now I am floating alone, like a pirate with no crew. I might be the first person to achieve this. The thought is thrilling, but a little scary. What if people don’t understand and they think I’m crazy? But I’m not doing it for them, I’m doing it for me.
There are two types of tonsillectomy: “hot” and “cold”. Cold refers to sharp dissection with a scalpel or scissors, after which the area is cauterized by extreme heat. Analysis shows that this method is more painful, and comes with higher rates of postoperative bleeding, than the “hot” procedure. In a hot tonsillectomy, cautery is used for both the removal of tonsils and the closing of the wound. This sounds more straightforward to me, especially because I’m operating on myself. I have to take much of the instructional material with a grain of salt, because none of the other doctors are operating on themselves. I have to be ingenious.
Hot tonsillectomy is typically done with an electrocautery tip or a harmonic scalpel. I found a lot of listings for the electrosurgical machine on Ebay, but they’re incredibly expensive, the voltage isn’t compatible with my outlets, and they all ship from abroad. I’m not clear on the FDA regulations for importing medical machines. I decide not to risk it. I’d rather not hack away at my tonsils with a knife, so I had the idea of using a soldering iron. I bought one on Craigslist for $10. It’s the same as electrocautery, if you really think about it. I’m very proud of this idea.
It takes a long time to be ready because there is a major obstacle I have to mitigate. Without general anesthesia, gag reflex is a big problem. In June I poke my tonsils with a piece of spaghetti. I almost puke. I learn that sword swallowers desensitize their gag reflex so they can stick anything in their mouths, and anyone can do this. Three times a day I brush my tongue with my toothbrush for fifteen seconds, as far back as I can get it without gagging. The next day I can move it a little further back. Two months later I can prod at my tonsils with no problem. I’m perfectly optimized and I’ll never gag again.
August 3 is the day of the procedure. Postmodernism Day. I figure it’s pretty postmodern to stray from medical tradition and construct an inventive, low-tech home surgery. It feels artistic to me. The night before I’m so excited I feel like there’s hummingbirds in my stomach. It’s the complete opposite of how I felt before trepanning myself. That day I was completely serene, like I was moving through water on autopilot. Tonight I’m exploding with nervous energy. I can’t stop rearranging my surgical tools. I go outside every ten minutes to ask the sky if it’s sure this is the right time. The answer is always yes. I resolve to get at least four hours of sleep. I fall asleep at 3 AM and I have two dreams. In one I cut my tonsil and a glowing fairy flies out of the wound. She lands on my head and watches me operate. I feel safe. In the other dream I open a strange door to a dimly lit room. Inside are two tall shadowy figures wearing clown masks. I tell them I’m sorry to disturb them and they tell me I’m stupid and annoying. I guess these dreams let me know I can’t predict what will happen. Dreams aren’t always true, but I’m grateful for the perspective.
The morning of, all my senses are heightened. I feel compelled to move through my house in complete silence, like I‘m in church. The slightest noise of my windchimes or my dog‘s foo tsteps makes me jump. I test out my soldering iron fifty-seven times, and it works perfectly. I spend the morning watching tonsillectomy videos on mute, listening to the sound of my breathing, thinking about how much easier it will be to breathe with a larger airway. Everything seems too bright and too loud. I think I’m meant to take in as much as possible from my surroundings, so I can operate with maximum wisdom. Let me be clear: I’m not nervous. I’m not scared. I’m just spinning in circles anticipating something I can’t see clearly yet.
I start the operation at about 3:30 PM, when the light is brightest in my bathroom. I’m wearing a Party City lab coat, the same one from last year’s trepanation. I open wide in the mirror. The unengorged tonsil is nestled in the back of the open mouth, tucked inside a ridge of skin. It’s very hard to see, but I’ve purchased a Boyle-Davis mouth gag, one of two standards for mouth surgery. I like it better than the McIvor mouth gag. It holds my tongue down so it won’t get in the way. I bought lidocaine from a guy I met at a bowling alley, and I inject it into my tongue and my tonsils. The puncture bleeds a little, which I didn’t expect. I stocked up on a few substances to take the edge off. I’ve prepared a special playlist for the surgery - here it is.
During the first song I’m waiting for the anesthetic to work, and I can’t help but do a little dance. I’m so excited! I set my soldering iron to 20 watts, the same power setting doctors use for the electrocautery pen. I’m using a chisel tip, best for cutting. Doctors use long forceps to grab the tonsil, but I’m just using regular tweezers. Grabbing and pulling my tonsil is the weirdest sensation I’ve ever felt in my life, which is saying something. It doesn’t hurt, but I can still feel the sharp tug. I hold my breath and stick the iron in my mouth.
Immediately I have to fight the urge to throw up. The searing heat is shocking, though the anesthetic numbs most of the pain. It seems I didn’t train my gag reflex well enough. It’s a good thing I can’t move my tongue. The first cut is sloppy, imprecise. A dry white scab blossoms across the skin. I move slowly, hesitating between each slice. It’s hypnotic to watch the skin blanch and shrivel. I feel a renewed sense of anger that I was born with tonsils in the first place. It makes me determined to finish this.
By the third song I’m getting into a rhythm. Nothing could break my concentration, my whole world is inside my mouth. I shred fast in time to the music. Smoke rises from the burned tonsil, twisting into psychedelic shapes and colors. It’s starting to hurt more, but it bleeds less than I expected. It feels like it’s two hundred degrees in the bathroom and I’m sweating like a pig. I have to take frequent breaks so I don’t gag. My hands aren’t steady, and I burn the wrong area many times. This is a clumsy operation, but that’s okay because it’s mine. Catching my breath and spitting out blood, I look in the mirror and for once feel like I recognize who I’m staring at.
The next part is gross, so skip it if you’re not up for that.
The building pain and smell of burned flesh is starting to make me feel light-headed, but I ignore it. I have tunnel vision. The task now feels almost robotic, like the iron is just another body part. I feel like I’m in a video game. I was born to do surgery. Midway through, I have to alter the procedure a little bit. I’ve burned away most of my tonsil, but with an improvised tool like a soldering iron, it’s proving hard to cut free. I can’t reach that far into my mouth with surgical precision. I have to, what’s a polite way to say this? Rip the whole thing out with tweezers. The whole area around the tonsil is seared white. I seize the scarred lump and yank it as hard as I can. The sudden gush of blood brings me back to reality. The pain is intense, I now know I didn’t use enough lidocaine. I’m trying not to puke as I dig out the remaining evil, useless bits of tonsil and burn it closed.
Now I’m holding my right tonsil in the tweezers in my shaking hand. I see it glowing faintly, I can almost feel it breathing. I’ve really done it, I got it out. Most people would say this is impossible, but I actually did it! I’m the world’s first auto-tonsillectomist. I feel lighter than air. I can’t hold back the tears of relief.
But I don’t think I can do the other side now. I’m already in so much pain. I swallowed too much blood and I feel sick and my bathroom smells horrible. I’ve exorcised half the evil, but I need another day to do the rest. I want to go to sleep and have another dream that might help me make sense of all this.
I’m drifting off on the couch when a fine mist appears above me. It coalesces into the form of my late mother. She tells me she’s so happy for me, she’s proud I grew up to be a great surgeon. I tell her I’m disappointed in myself for not finishing the operation. All great operations take time, she says. You don’t have to do everything so fast, Jennica. I think she’s right. I’m still proud of what I’ve done. I spend the rest of the afternoon in a deep sleep.
Now my tonsil is preserved in a jar in my cupboard, next to the pasta. I’ll show it to people when the time is right. I’ll wait a while before I take out the other one. It’s important to take time after an uplifting surgical experience to notice how the body, mind, and spirit changes. It can have a profound effect on one’s life and character. I can’t see the future, but I’m ready for whatever happens. I am the biggest strongest surgeon in the world. Nothing can ever stop me. 10/10 super fun experience, I hope it's even better next time!
Special thanks to all those surgeons on Youtube who upload tonsillectomy videos. You guys are the best!
- JENNICA A. YAGGLE, M.D. Ph.D. E.N.T.