photo #8961252

In 1970s and 1980s, across the Soviet Union, millions of children went through the same frightening experience — the routine removal of their tonsils, often simply because they were enlarged. At the time, doctors believed the tonsils were a useless organ, more harmful than helpful. They were seen as the cause of frequent sore throats, recurring infections, trouble swallowing, and even breathing problems during sleep. If a child was often sick, if their throat looked inflamed, or if they snored at night, the solution was swift and decisive: the tonsils had to go. For parents, this was presented as standard medical practice. Necessary. Responsible. Preventive. So they trusted the system. For the children, it was something else entirely. Tonsil removal was usually done surgically, and often without general anesthesia. In some cases, only local numbing was used — and sometimes not even that. Children were brought into sterile rooms, seated in chairs, and told to open their mouths. There was no long preparation, no gentle explanation. Just bright lights, metal instruments, and fear. Many still remember the metallic taste of blood, the sound of tools, the pressure in their throat, and the feeling of not being able to cry or scream because their mouth was being held open. Afterwards, they were sent home with sore throats, weak bodies, and memories that stayed with them for decades. It was fast. It was efficient. And it was deeply traumatic. Back then, little was said about the immune function of the tonsils — that they are part of the body’s first line of defense, helping to recognize and fight infections, especially in early childhood. That knowledge came later. What was once considered harmless and helpful is now approached with far more caution, and tonsillectomy is no longer treated as a default solution. Looking back, it’s heartbreaking to realize how many children went through pain that might not have been necessary. But it also reflects the reality of medicine in that era — a system driven by strict protocols, limited resources, and an unwavering belief in authority. Doctors followed what they were taught. Parents followed what doctors said. And children, as always, had no choice but to endure. Today, many adults who grew up in the USSR still remember that moment vividly. Not as a medical procedure, but as one of their first encounters with fear, vulnerability, and the strange realization that pain could be called “normal.” It’s a quiet chapter of history that rarely makes it into textbooks, but lives on in the memories of those who experienced it — a reminder of how far medicine has come, and how important it is to keep questioning what we accept as routine, especially when it comes to children. Because progress is not just about new technology. It’s also about learning to treat young patients not as problems to be fixed, but as human beings who deserve safety, dignity, and compassion.