The truth is, the staff at the otolaryngology clinic didn't think that joke was funny, but I still do.
See, on Friday morning, we snagged a cancelled appointment slot to get Mr. P in for a specialist check on his nose. As expected, he was deemed fine. Whether there's a hairline fracture in there or not, there's nothing they would do (as I suspected!). So the nice doctor was sending us on our way with instructions to do saline spray to help clear out what she suspected was blood congealed up in his nasal cavity, causing him to sound stuffed up even though she couldn't see much stuffiness when she looked up his nose.
This is when Mr. P volunteered that he was "fine", he could breathe through his mouth and he didn't have any trouble sleeping that way. And then I kind of rolled my eyes and made some off-hand comment about how he is often "stuffed up", that he'd had a cold and it was just lingering, like they always do.
Does he have trouble sleeping? she asked. Which might be the question where my answer included some mention of his enormous tonsils and how, although he sleeps heavily, he does sometimes snore and I've suspected he has sleep apnea occasionally, too.
She asked him to get back in the chair so she could look down his throat.
Then she asked me a bunch more questions (after dramatically demonstrating the difference between the space normal tonsils give you to breath through and the significantly smaller space Mr. P's give him). And five minutes later, we were scheduling a tonsillectomy.
Which slightly freaks me out, because, you know, surgery! But which also isn't really a surprise. We were told several years ago that we might want to see an ENT about the potential sleep apnea (I wish I'd followed up sooner, but that's how things shake out sometimes) and every doctor that's ever looked down his throat has commented on the extraordinary size of his tonsils. It's just that this is the first ENT we've actually seen, meaning the first person who could actually recommend surgery.
And then I was talking to another parent at preschool, who happens to be a cardiologist at the children's hospital, and she was reassuring me that although she is a "minimalist" on these kinds of things that it was a good idea to do it if the ENT recommended it and if Mr. P was "symptomatic". And when I mentioned sleep apnea (which I do feel a little tentative about because it's not like he's been officially tested and I haven't actually listened to him breathing while he slept in years, but it does run in the family), she said, "Oh, yeah, I see the sleep apnea kids, myself!" What? In cardiology? "Yep, it stresses the right side of the heart."
So, you know. We could kick up a fuss and go through all the hoops of a complicated sleep study thing (which the doctor didn't even mention)... or we could just go ahead and have his gigantic tonsils out. And so that's what we're doing in mid February. :(
I bought yarn this weekend to start a special project for him so I can knit while I'm waiting. Because tonsillectomies are so common, so routine, blah blah blah, but I know I will worry while I wait.