Whaddya mean, no pizza?!?!

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As many of you know, my six-year-old son recently had his tonsils and adenoids removed. The entire experience was much less stressful than you might imagine, with the exception of…the food.

Yes, the food.

The Warning…er, Reassurance

In each pre-op meeting we had with the doctor, including several phone calls where we walked through all the do’s and don’ts prior to and post-sugery there was a standard warning…er, reassurance given. Each and every time.

Now, don’t be surprised if the little guy doesn’t want to eat anything for several days. This is normal. Most children have a hard time eating or drinking anything. With that said, you’ll need to make sure he drinks at least 2 oz. of water or juice each hour. This will avoid dehydration and ensure he’s getting the sustenance he needs. After all, it may be three or four days before he’s willing to eat anything more than a popsicle. *Insert pitying look here.*

Uh-huh. Right. (By the way, do you know how small two ounces of liquid is? He could drink that in his sleep with no problem.)

Clearly, You Don’t Know My Son

If you read my long diatribe of a post about the day of the surgery, you know where this is headed. One hour after coming out of the anesthesia, the munchkin outright demands, while downing his third popsicle, “I want one of those french fries, Mom!”

And so it began. And it was all downhill from there.

*Sigh.*

You see, the munchkin’s basically had a sore throat every other month of his life since he was about 3 years old. While, the diagnosis would be strep three to four times each year (six this last year), it wouldn’t go away. This meant that after 10 days of antibiotics, we’d wait a week, and wouldn’t you know, the sore throat was right back again. Another round of antibiotics, sometimes two, would be required to kick it. By then, it was the next month, and about time for another sore throat to attack.

If the little guy didn’t eat when his throat was sore, he’d probably never eat. So, to him, this pain is about the same as any other month, give or take a dose of Tylenol with codeine or two.

Hey, where’s the corn?

The day after the surgery, we received a follow-up call from the doctor. “How’s the little guy doing? Were you able to get him to eat or drink anything these past 24 hours?”

*Insert completely unlady-like snort here.*

I explained that, yes, in fact, it was quite the struggle to stop him from eating crackers, wanting pasta with red sauce and the be-all-end-all? Pizza. I had planned to make his favorite meal of homemade meatloaf and potatoes for him later in the week. But, given the diversionary tactics the hubby and I had to employ right off the bat, I begged the nurse to let me fix it that night.

Permission granted. Whew! He downed it like he hadn’t eaten in three weeks instead of just two days! Then, of course, came the complaint: “Hey, where’s the corn?” he says frantically searching the table and counter tops in vain. “Why do I have to have mushy broccoli instead? We always have corn with meatloaf.”

Yes, we do. Unfortunately, corn, along with any other foods that act like seeds and could get stuck in or scrape the back of the throat (sprinkle donuts, seeds, watermelon — unless we de-seed the white seeds, sour food, sipping through a straw, red sauce, acidic anything, crackers, cookies, chips, pretzels, french fries, salty foods, etc.), are completely off limits for the next two weeks. So, no corn.

Whaddya mean, no pizza?!?!

Somewhat satisfied after eating an entire piece of meatloaf, a 1/3 of a cup of mashed potatoes, five spears of broccoli, a super-soft (nothing crunchy, remember) piece of bread, jello and a popsicle, he was somewhat satisfied.

Until the next day.

After three eggs for breakfast – yes, three, for the child who’s previously had maybe half an egg at any sitting – along with more jello, another popsicle and some oatmeal, he complains he’s still hungry. (Can you say tapeworm?)

“Why can’t I have a poptart?” he whines. “Because a poptart is too crunchy two days after your surgery, dear,” I somewhat patiently explain.

Grumble, grumble, grumble. Off he goes into the family room to play a game, while watching his favorite cartoons.

Until lunch.

“Okay, what should we have for lunch? Mac ‘n cheese, more egg, leftover meatloaf, some jello? What sounds good?” I query.

“I want pizza,” he says definitively. “We haven’t had pizza in forever. Pizza and breadsticks. Yum.”

“No. No pizza. You can’t have pizza, honey. Remember, the doctor said no sauce this whole week,” I calmly explain to a six-year-old with the most horrified expression on his face you can imagine.

“Whaddya mean, no pizza?!?!? No pizza???? Why? Why can’t I have pizza?” He fires at me in a never-ending deluge of questions. “Fine. I guess I’ll have leftover meatloaf.”

On the Mend

Almost two weeks into his recovery, and we did finally give in to the pizza demand. Chili’s pizza has very little sauce on it; so he was able to eat it with no trouble. He was the happiest child you’ve ever seen that day.

Ah, the little things in life. To a six-year-old, no pizza is the end of the world. I’m definitely glad he’s been recovering sooo well. I’d much rather be fending off meal requests than trying to encourage him to eat and drink as must be the case with many other children who have to have their tonsils out.

Oh to be six again. =) Until next time.