I know there are some lucky people out there that have gone their whole life without ever having a surgical procedure. Far from being one of those lucky, in-tact people, I have had at least five surgeries, varying from tonsillectimy to being gutted like a fish and having a human being ripped out of my body, otherwise known as cesarean section.
Anyway, although I did not have another surgery, per se, I did have a procedure under anesthesia. Of course we all know that anesthesia is relatively safe. How safe you ask? Well, according to anesthesiaweb, the likelihood of dying as a result of general anesthesia is only 0.01-0.016%. That’s pretty small. But not small enough to stop me from becoming a fatalist freak a week before the procedure.
Me: “If I died, would you remarry?”
Hubs: “No way.”
Me: “But I would want you to, eventually. Not like, tomorrow, but someday.”
Hubs: “Shut up, you’re not going to die.”
Me: “Oh, I know. Hey, have I ever shown you where the insurance policies are filed??”
Because, you just never know, right? Right???? I mean, way freakier things have happened.
The morning of my procedure, Connor sat on the bed next to me before hubs took him to school.
Me: “Do you know that I love you more than anything?”
Damn, that DOES look good.
Connor: “Even more than cake?”
Me: “Oh yes, much more than cake. I want you to know how proud I am of you, and that I think you’re a really smart boy.”
Connor: “Can I have some cake if I have a good day at school?”
Me: “No. But listen, I really want you to do your best to listen, and learn, and to respect others, okay?”
Connor: “When will it be Xmas? Can I have cake when it’s Xmas?”
What a tender moment. It almost makes me well up again….
Later, at the surgery center where I was most definitely not having an actual surgery, but more of a procedure, I was in the room, all gowned up, with the IV locked and loaded. I recently started reading the Outlander series (I know, I KNOW, I’m late…what can I say, I’ve been busy), and am near the end of the 2nd book, so I was busy ignoring my loving husband and lying there reading my book. But then the very effeminate, ex-military, male nurse came in to tell me that the anesthesiologist was about to spike my IV and wheel me off, and hubs could wait there in the room until the procedure was over.
So we held hands a moment, looked into each other’s eyes, and as they began to wheel me out, I said “don’t lose my page in my book!”
Oh yeah, and “I love you.”
And the thought it my head was that I should try very, very hard to concentrate on these last moments before oblivion, so I could write a blog post about what my final thoughts before oblivion actually were. So here they are, as complete as I can remember them, the final nuggets in my head before sedation:
Wow, here we go, down this loooooong hallway.
I wonder why Claire just didn’t take Jamie back in time to the future to avoid the whole Battle of Culloden?
Oh, here we are…the surgical room.
They want me to shimmy from the rollie-bed to the meat slab in a gown that’s open in the back? There is NO way for my ass NOT to hang out.
Ohhhh, pretty lights….
My toes look awful, I really need a pedi-zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
Clearly, for all my pre-procedural angst, I still was not focused on thoughts of my baby boy and loving husband. And the very moment I was supposed to be holding a visual picture of my son and husband in my mind’s eye, I was busy pondering pedicures and potential novel plot twists.
I’m just gonna go ahead and take my Mom and Wife of the Year award and blame it all on the anesthesia.
Yes, I'm JUST LIKE Sally Field. Except the hair.
Hey, it could be the reason. You don’t know.
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