Yesterday I had one of those procedures where you have to “prep” the day before (i.e. live in the bathroom). Because of issues the last time I had this lovely thing done, it was decided that a stronger anesthesia would be administered.
Thank you, doctor.
The anesthesiologist was a lovely woman and, after a minute or two of chit chat, I dropped into unconsciousness.
It was heavenly.
The next thing I heard was a nurse demanding, “WAKE UP!”
No, I don’t think so. I was in the middle of the best nap I’d ever had in my life. I was cozy under two warmed blankets. Life was good.
“WAKE UP! IT’S TIME TO WAKE UP!”
She sounded irritated but I didn’t care. No one could make me open my eyes.
“I’M GOING TO CALL YOUR HUSBAND TO PICK YOU UP!!! YOU HAVE TO WAKE UP NOW!”
Well, hell. Nurse Ratchet was really pissed. They probably needed my cubicle. Needed my gurney. Needed my blankets.
I slowly opened my eyes and prepared myself to give up on my nap and enter the world again. I sat up and blinked and yawned and clutched my warm blankets to my chest.
She took out my IV. I wish she would have left it in. I wish I could have half a dozen vials of that anesthesia in a bag. To go.
Because despite the perfection of my colon (doctor’s words), I don’t have the stomach for Election Day and almost certainly what will become Election Week.
Hook up the IV and wake me when it’s over.