Surgery

This time tomorrow I will be wearing nothing but a hospital gown, have had my IV put in, have an oversized aluminum cap on, I’ll have amazed or annoyed the anesthesiologist by telling them exactly what drugs I want and need and I’ll be about to head to another operating room. Where they’ll transfer me to a hard table in a freezing room, tie me down and surround me with a bunch of masked faces. I will say stuff they won’t expect and I’ll get some laughs. Then I’ll feel the drug go in my arm as they tell me to count backwards from 10. I’ve actually gotten to 3 once!

How do I know this? I tried to think earlier about how many surgeries I’ve had. Immediately off the top of my head, I got to 24. I think there are at least 15 more I can’t remember or when I was too young to remember. If that’s correct, tomorrow is my 40th surgery. That’s in almost 50 years time.

To me, it’s just something I’ve had to do. I’ve never gotten scared. I’ve never even been nervous. It’s just like I’m taking a forced nap. But instead of waking up refreshed, I’ll have a tube sticking out of a place I’d rather not have a tube. I’ll be sore. I’ll be groggy. But I’ll still be here. Forty is a good round number. I think I’ll stop there.