play with his toys and age-appropriate games, good-naturedly protecting his creations from his out-to-destroy little brother. When kindergarten PTA came around, we wondered whether his rebbi this year had also noticed his lack of “hearing.” We had decided not to discuss it with him before the meeting, allowing him to reach his own conclusions first so we’d get an unbiased second opinion. This time, my husband came home with a completely different perspective. “The rebbi suggests that Mayer would benefit from play therapy, or perhaps occupational therapy. He doesn’t seem to interact with the other boys at all,” he said. “When the kids play with toys, for example, Mayer will either build something on his own, or hand over the pile of Lego. He doesn’t have the skills to participate in a partner or group activity.” Knowing this rebbi as a veteran educator, I took his opinion very seriously and began making inquiries about evaluations, modalities, and therapists in my area. Interestingly, when I mentioned my concerns to a neighbor whose daughter had had the procedure done to shave her tonsils not long before, we decided to put this conversation on hold until after Mayer’s surgery. This woman told me that her daughter, too, had social issues, and they simply resolved on their own after the procedure. My husband let the teacher know that we were going to revisit his suggestion after Purim, when Mayer would be post-surgery and my sister’s chasunah had passed. February came sooner than expected, and with it the date of the surgery. We hoped and davened that Mayer remain cough, cold, and sneeze free so the surgery could proceed as planned. Baruch Hashem, turning a blind eye to a slight cough, he did. At the crack of dawn on a blustery Wednesday, we headed to the hospital. Thankfully, the pre-op went
ENLARGED TONSILS Tonsils may become enlarged after frequent or persistent infections, or they may be naturally large. A tonsillectomy may be used to treat the following problems caused or complicated by enlarged tonsils: • Difficulty breathing • Disrupted breathing during sleep (obstructive sleep apnea) • Recurring strep A tonsillectomy is the surgical removal of the tonsils, which are two oval-shaped pads of tissue at the back of the throat, one on each side. Once a common procedure to treat any inflammation of the tonsils, today a tonsillectomy is usually performed when the issue doesn’t respond to other treatments. Recovery time for a tonsillectomy is usually ten days to two weeks. (Source: Mayo Clinic)
smoothly, and soon enough, Mayer was shivering in hospital pajamas, clutching his teddy bear. The doctor stuck his head into our cubicle to wish us good morning, and then we were off to the operating room. Squinting in the bright lights of the OR, I held my son’s hand reassuringly as he drifted off. Then, with prayers on my lips, I was ushered out of the cold, bright room. Baruch Hashem, the procedure passed uneventfully, and we were soon back home, sleepy child in tow. As Mayer fell right back to sleep on the couch, the first thing I noticed was his silent breathing. I had always been able to hear him breathe from the bathtub while I flipped over the chicken in the kitchen. Now there was only quiet, and I found myself checking if he was breathing. After the first day of drowsiness, discomfort, and arts and crafts had passed, we immediately noticed how significantly Mayer had changed. On Thursday, the weather was mild, and I took the kids out for a walk. As soon as we got down the steps and I stopped to speak to a neighbor, Mayer let go of the carriage and ran down the rest of the long driveway. I watched him from the corner of my eye, assuming he’d wait for me at the
curb. But, no, as soon as he reached the end of the pavement, he turned and ran all the way toward me again. And again. And again. I stopped speaking and stared. My calm, slow-paced son was running and running with seemingly unending energy, smiling widely each time he passed. As the days and weeks passed, it was impossible to miss the incredible change. Gone were the snoring and morning lethargy. Hello, boundless energy! To confirm we weren’t imagining things, the rebbi soon phoned. “I don’t know how this makes sense,” he began, “but Mayer is a changed child. Forget what I originally said about play therapy. He’s interacting and cooperating with the other kids in a perfectly age-appropriate fashion.” The surprise in his voice was evident as he asked my husband to explain exactly what had brought about this miracle. “Shaving tonsils and adenoids?” he repeated. “I don’t know how that makes sense.” We didn’t either. And so we thanked him, lifted our eyes, and thanked Him.
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