View allAll Photos Tagged tonsils,
My throat is red raw. My tonsils are the size of golf balls. I really hope it's not strep. Or worse.
I had the same sort of thing about a year ago at this time so I hope it's allergies.
Can't be sick - tomorrow is picture day!
Year 2 - Upload 131
And if you look you'll see I was in much better shape a year ago.
gryskopmeeu/grey-headed gull/chroicocephalus cirrocephalus
I failed to interpret his loud announcements... but tonsils look fine to me.
Rooiwal sewage works, Pretoria.
It was fair to say that by now I was getting a trifle irritated. It was the only time on Super Saturday that I allowed Mr Grumpy to come striding in from behind the curtains, or perhaps there were other guilty parties who had invited him to the centre of the stage. After all, the latterly arrived photobombers were hardly a pair of youthful star crossed lovers whose tender years might go some way to excuse their slightly excessive behaviour. Younger than me by some years admittedly, but that’s not exactly difficult. And right now, as they explored each others’ tonsils for about the twentieth time, they failed to budge a single inch from the position they’d occupied for the last ten minutes; a position directly between the increasingly unimpressed middle aged photographer, standing on top of a dune with his camera pointing right at them and the black church. And you only have to look at the image to see why. This sort of light doesn’t last for long, and when the gods have decided to ramp it up a bit and gone and heaped a cloud that looks like an enormous white duvet over the background mountains, you really need to get on with taking the shot before everything goes flat. I didn’t want my image to be somebody else’s love scene, and I’m really not that good with the clone tool.
And where was Lee when I needed him? His razor sharp elbows are the stuff of legend on the local five a side football circuit, and he hails from the mean streets of a certain city in the West Midlands, where they probably have punch ups for breakfast. In fact I’m sure he told me his Grandad was a Peaky Blinder - although maybe he made that bit up to sound windswept and dangerous. He may only be five and a half feet tall in his Cuban heels, but just one raised eyebrow from him and they’d have been chasing off to their rented Dacia Duster before screeching their tyres in a hasty exit out of the car park in the direction of Reykjavik in record time. Alas, Lee was on a distant dune to the west of me, nose buried in his camera bag, happily oblivious to my increasing angst at the entwined pair. Now the grasses in front of the church were glowing as if they’d been set alight. If Bonnie and Clyde didn’t get a shift on, I wasn’t going to get the shot. I was on my own.
Enough was enough - Clyde looked considerably larger than me at one hundred and thirty-five millimetres (not his height - evidently), but it’s amazing what a bout of righteous indignation does for one’s sense of puffed up bravado. I coughed loudly, shouted “excuse me,” with as much authority as I could muster, and watched, as sheepishly they skulked off to conduct their business somewhere else in the dunes. Quite frankly, they’d need to find somewhere a bit more secluded quite soon if things carried on the way they were going. At least it seemed that I wouldn’t be paying for the shot I’d finally get by being on the wrong end of a bout of fisticuffs. So far I’ve gone through life without getting involved in disputes of a physical nature, although in moments when my patience has been tested by people standing gormlessly in compositions, I’ve often wondered what I’ve been missing out on. Well when I say I’ve managed to stay clear of the combat zone - apart that is from that playground scrap at the age of twelve when I rolled into what I’m going to politely refer to as “essence of dog,” following which the contest was declared null and void as I raced off home to ask for my jumper to be put in the washing machine without having to face any difficult questions. Nothing to do with the fact that I was losing at the time. He was bigger than me too. Me and my mouth.
Up until now, and henceforth afterwards, Super Saturday had perhaps been the most productive day of my life behind the viewfinder, here or anywhere else in the world. Snaefellsnes, gathered under ever more dramatic cloud shapes, had been our world, and it had been pretty much a perfect one at that. So good in fact, that I’ve decided to create an album within an album and call it……., well you’ve probably worked it out. And with the greater part of the action taking place across three evening hours that will live long in the memory at Budir, our time here provided some spectacular conditions with which to work.
In fact I had to stop writing for a few minutes to remind myself what remains to be shared from Super Saturday, and while I must confess I feel I saved the best until first (The Big Pink Sky Show), there are still a few treats left lurking in the goody bag - well I think so anyway and I hope you’ll agree as I drag them out and polish them off. I’d better get on with it then.
The Big Pink Sky Show: www.flickr.com/photos/126574513@N04/52380684960/in/album-...
Today marks the 3rd anniversary of my final treatment for cancer of the tonsils. Hard to believe that it has been 3 years now, seems in some ways like that was a lifetime ago and yet it also seems like it was only yesterday. I'm free of it now, thanks to my doctors, nurses and to God for guiding their hands as they worked to rid my body of it. I'm free of it and the odds are good, it is not coming back. As Coach Jim Valvano said in his speech about cancer, "don't give up...don't ever give up" hope is there that one day soon, more and more of us will defeat that foe and go on to lead healthy, normal lives. I was fortunate, I needed no surgery. I beat it, you can too!
I hope everyone is staying safe during the COVID-19 crisis.
Lower Yosemite Fall
I remember this old hospital well. I had my tonsils out there in 1962, and other surgeries afterwards. All trace of Flow Memorial Hospital is gone now. An apartment complex for students occupies the site. Denton's original hospital on South Locust still exists, however--as an office building. NOTE: I hope Flickr is saving all my thank yous. I want everyone to know how much I appreciate their comments. NOTE: For some reason, this slot isn't recording all the comments. I want everyone to know that I appreciate your comments, and please keep them coming. UPDATE: I'm not sure this slot is recording all my comments. I want to thank everyone who has looked at my photos.
another view of my mums loft, no spinning wheels in this shot although she owns more than twenty, but the evidence of dust for my mum was a revelation.
view large and tickle your tonsils.
People who know me can attest that I have a self-destructive affinity to chocolates. I already have my tonsils removed 10 years ago as my EENT said that they were already "irreparably diseased'. I still get sick occasionally for excessive sugar intake but with "sore throat"- yes, now my esophagus is the one which gets inflamed now.
I know I really should stop. I try but not when my brother tempts me this box of delicious marzipan (part of his Christmas gifts). In just one sitting, midway in taking photographs of the colorful delights, I ate six. So let's see- at 180calories (50cal fat) per 3 pieces, they were easily 360 calories or about 2 hours of jogging. Aaargh!
Astoria, New York, the US
more on my sugar addiction in Have Chocolate, Will Travel at www.colloidfarl.blogspot.com/
From my archives, taken in 1967, our son checking out the teeth (or tonsils??) of our German shepherd Romair.
HSS.
Feeding Time - Other Photos from the Series in Comments Below
From Lynn J.: "I see you still have your tonsils."
These kids have to leave the nest.
Wakodahatchee Feeding Time
Double-Crested Cormorant
Adult cormorants feed regurgitated food to
their nestlings. For very young chicks, an adult
will arch its neck, take the head of the chick
into its mouth, and regurgitate a semi-liquid
food. Older nestlings will thrust their heads
into the adult’s throat and remove whole fish
regurgitated into the neck pouch
Keeping Zander entertained during the wait before his op was easy today. I took my laptop and his game. Kept him busy for 2,5 hours
BTW if you don't know, he had his tonsils and adenoids removed and got tubes (for the 4th time) He is in pain but lying next to me in bed
For licensing on my images see: Getty images.
www.gettyimages.co.uk/search/2/image?artist=sandra%20stan...
Puffin.
The old childrens hospital in my hometown bristol, its being knoked down right now and there is little to nothing left in the place. I have seen a few reports on various sites and this room here in my opinion was the only one worth the journey. I thought the ceiling was quite cool and i also had my tonsils out here when i was 6 :p
The 4th and last in this thrush series. From egg to these babies in 15 days.I think if the third egg had hatched there wouldn't have been room for it in the nest! :)
The throats are not unlike an orchid flower!
This Great blue heron (Ardea herodias) has obviously been asked to see its tonsils. I found this about GBH's tongues: Unlike woodpeckers and other birds with long tongues, Herons' tongues are attached below the mandible bone and are more limited in the their movement. However, this is to their advantage, as it allows more room in their mouth for them to swallow large items.
These guys are nesting nearby... and seem to have no fear at all of me.. fun to watch.. still trying for that perfect flight shot!!! My internet is a little goofy right now.. seems to get finicky when the weather changes.. I will catch up with you all soon!
Unfortunately you can't see the flower at the end of the beard :-(
Think this is one of my favourite photos from the event this time :-)
One of the many starlings that can be seen in Maldon's Promenade Park - if starlings had tonsils I think you'd be able to see them in this shot!!!!
31 days of October
31 photos
complete
It got me editing again (yay!!) and thinking ideas out more thoroughly also shooting a bit more often (which wasn't the point but always fun) AND I'm actively back learning about all things photography. Win!
Next up Hancock and a darkroom. I've never shot film and I think it might be a fabulous disaster if I were to give it a try ;]
now to kick this bug lurking around in my sinuses. It seems to have a death grip on my tonsils. very very uncool I tell you
and for November? Me thinks me needs to see The Great Picture.
I´m back on the mend after being bedbound for two week.
It seemed that a bacteria really liked my throat so much that it nestled itself in my tonsils and had a great time there, it had so much fun that it inflamed all of my lymph nodes in my mouth and neck. This made it almost impossible to swallow or to talk thanks to the swelling.
But I´m feeling a lot better now thanks to the antibiotics I got from the hospital.
This photo illustrates how my throat felt the last two weeks. I didn´t have any pictures of broken glass or of a bunch of needles and I just don´t feel like setting up a photo at this stage.
I want to thank everybody for you kind words.
The Natural Curiosity of Lot’s Wife -
Do you want to hear a story about an inquisitive girl probing the bucolic mountains? An October morning, she reached the twilight zone where the mouth of the cave meets daylight. Located further down were two tonsils, one on either side. She gawked right then left. Craving the very thing that mankind is scared of, she crept cautiously to the brim. As she was peering bottomward a voice suddenly bellowed, its echoes stirring up to the ear. “Twenty-six, twenty-six, twenty-six … !” She was stunned momentarily. I suppose she hadn’t seen that coming. Frightened but fine, she stepped back and looked up the two orifices. The first burrow came close to being a snake hole that could fit Titanoboa, a one-and–a–half ton colossal constrictor. The taller eyelet beside mimics so well a cavernous hollow tapped by woodpeckers which preferred stones to timber. To the left or right? Both carry risks. Which should she choose? Eventually, with an exasperated sigh of resignation she muttered, “Alright, let’s see what you got.” She abseiled down the left aperture with ropes and experienced … nothing solid beneath her feet. Whatever happened to her? I know that I know now, that I know nothing. The following year a different girl walked in and stood in front of the access defiant. Same as the previous, she edged nearer to the openings so inviting. You think this time she better pick the right dugout? Left or right, it didn’t matter for she listen not her own heartbeat but a strange call reverting, “Twenty-seven, twenty-seven, twenty-seven ….”