Relax. It’ll be Over Soon

How long is twenty minutes?

Enough time to take a shower.
Enough time to clip all your nails.
Enough time to apply makeup.
Enough time to commute to work.

Well, twenty minutes spent on the operating table certainly wasn’t as easy-breezy.

I have to tell you this first: if anyone ever tells you to get a local anesthesia, DEMAND a general one. It's horrifying to be wide awake to hear the metal instruments clinking and to smell your own flesh….burnt.

Cauterization…. Not a pleasant thought while you’re on the table.

The Nurse
I couldn’t put my finger on it, but the nurse in the operating room reminded me of the horrible landlady we had. She tried to close the door on Bill to prevent him from coming in. When I told her I’d like Bill to be here ‘cause I was nervous, she put her hand on my shoulder and asked sternly, “Have you given birth?” When I answered “No”, she gave me a look like she was saying, “Oh, that explains why you’re so chicken shit” and walked away.

The Intern
The intern has a severe slushy lisp AND he was (of course) wearing a mask. I was asking questions about the procedure, but I couldn’t understand a word he was saying. I tried to calm myself down by taking deep breaths. The intern noticed how nervous I was and he was kind enough to come to my side, “You’f gone shrouhh two shergeriesh mush greater shan tshish one. Tshish ish a piesh of cake. Why are you shill sho nervoush?” I noticed while he was saying all this, he was drawing invisible lines on the skin around where the catheter was with a plastic knife. “I wasn’t awake during those two surgeries. What are you doing anyway?”

“Oh, I’m practishing making inshishionsh.”

So the plastic knife was a make-believe scalpel and those lines he was drawing on my body…..they weren’t invisible in his eyes.

And Who Went to the Moon Again?
When the door opened again, Bill saw me walking out of the operating room in a gown soaked in sweat, tears streaming down my face, and a bagged bloody catheter in my hand. He helped me change into my clothes while I stood there shaking, crying, and telling him how horrible it was. I talked and talked and talked. He listened and carried my stuff and moved my hair away from my eyes.

I finally quieted down in the cab. After a moment of silence, I said, “It may have been a small procedure for the doctor, but it was nonetheless a major surgery as far as I'm concerned. Remember what Louis Armstrong said? Something about one small step of his is a giant leap of mankind?”

Bill struggled to finish his sentence, “I didn’t know Louis Armstrong went to the moon, babe. Did he bring his trumpet?”