I can believe how attached to my computer I’ve gotten. I must have been born with a keyboard and mouse attached to my hands. How does one get so attached?

It isn’t the computer itself i’m attached to, but the internet.

Here is the brief story of my past week of hell.

Monday i go to the doctor for my pre-operative appointment. All goes well, but i begin to get a bit nervous about the whole ordeal. I go into work after taking a half of a day and tie up loose ends. I leave roughly 6:45. I was a bit disappointed with that little tid-bit, but i didn’t want anything important not necessarily done before leaving. So all is as clean as it will be, i still have things that could be done (like attempting to trace down addresses that are outdated of establishments) but yet again nothing relevant.

Tuesday I go to the surgery early. Cab is not here five minutes after 6:00 (which was it’s scheduled time of arrival). I call doctor’s office and is forwarded to an answering center which has no clue what cab service the doctor uses. They can’t assist, they suggest waiting till thirty minutes before my surgery is scheduled to begin and call her back and she will inform the surgeon. Meanwhile for twenty four minutes, I have two dominant fears. First, that the surgery is postponed and I will need to find another way to take time off. Second, that they surgery goes on, at a later time and the doctor “rushes” through the procedure.

6:30 and I call the doctor’s office again. “The car service isn’t here yet, could you call the doctor and find…” Car goes screaming by our street slams on the brakes and “slips it into” reverse. “I think the service just got here.” She actually makes the car hit 45 on our little dead end street before making it hit 0 again in front of our house. I get in quickly pissed off. She backs out and takes off. Speeding. We get to Surgicare 5 minutes before surgery is supposed to occur. I’m sick to my stomach about to vomit, but I haven’t really eaten anything (as dictated) so I’m forced to realize all that would be released is acid. I go to the desk and find out that with all my  concern regarding the outcome of the surgery,  I neglected to fill out the required paperwork before coming the surgical center. So Mary assists in filling out most of the work while I go to the bathroom and splash water on my face.

A phrase being repeated over and over in my head, a mantra if you will. “This is a necessary evil, we must destroy something to make it better…..” You see a shot is a necessary evil because is circumvents negative possible occurrences. This, is the same.  Of course this doesn’t help me mentally face the fact that I’m about to have a knife slice my leg open. Sure sure, I know I won’t die, but I just don’t want to be invalid also. Bed ridden if you will. permanently crippled because of a “miscalculation”. Irrational, but poignant fears.

So I get pulled into the back of the hospital and sat in a small room. A woman, profession: pre-operative nurse, is questioning me regarding the surgery. An IV needle pieces my arm, and a middle-aged man, profession: surgical assistant, asks me which leg we are operating on. “Left leg I say.” he nods. “I’m going to the nursing assistant in charge of the surgery” My doctor comes out and we talk about the procedure, he introduces me to the “partner” for the practice.

Newsflash: apparently the partner/associate business structure exists outside the legal profession. I was not aware of this myself. SO my doctor will be assisting the partner in the operation.  The partner will be performing the operation. For as much research as I do in other people’s medical files, you’d think I’d have asked that question.

So the surgeons vanish and the nurse’s assistant comes back and looks at some paperwork. An older man roughly 60ish, profession: the anesthesiologist, walks up to me and asks me which foot is going to be operated on, I say “left”. He asks if I’ve ever been put out. I say yes. I told him about the time I had my wisdom teeth taken out. I was told they had to introduce a lot more anesthetic into my body due to my “resistance”. He informs me that that shouldn’t be the case here. I smiles slightly. I inform him that I’d like to ask him a few questions after the operation if possible. He says that patients usually do. Like a rabbit in a forest he vanishes, and the tress begin to crowd around me. Nurses going left and right. Did I mention there are four patients in this room? I nervously stop a nurse who is fiddling with my iv and ask her, “we aren’t having the surgery out here right? I mean there is hardly any room.” she smiles, “of course not, there is an operating table in the back. We will have you walk back there when it is time.”

The male surgical assistant comes by again, and asks me again which foot will be operated on, and I say “left”. He stops looking at some papers and says “Left?” As though I’m misleading him. As though at this moment the most pressing point of information in my mind is that I should incorrectly inform him of the leg in which my operation occurs. Something clicks in my head.

Genetics and personal growth is thrown out the window. My environmental tutelage begins churning. Rationality is ignored and a diatribe begins in my head. A discourse behind all the reasons why this individual shouldn’t be in the position he is in. I’m summing the young man up. His age, race, potential failures in education, probable inbred heritage, religious slurs, political summations, and then I notice he is gone. I was careful though to watch his body language when I choose to clearly and concisely detail why I knew it was my left and not my right leg. He didn’t smile he hinted at no possible enjoyment regarding this misdirection. In short, I saw no evidence it was a joke on his own part. I could only hope.

And then a young nurse comes in grabs my IV and tells me we are going to surgery. I smile and stand up thinking a thousand different things. I lay down on what appears to be the kind of table they strap inmates down and inject lethal doses of … I watch as my arms are strapped down out on my sides in prisoner form, but in the Christ position. I smile thinking about how Mary teased me in the beginning of our relationship by calling me Jesus. I chide with myself about how strong the “need” for a god can be. I ignore him as he tightens the straps on my arms and I ignore how rough he is with my IV. He rips tape off like a war surgeon. I think he may have been trained in war. I ignore how he appears to be fighting the IV itself as he jabs the needle deep and the anesthesia begins pulsing in. Old fart I think. I don’t feel anything. It takes time I think. I turn to the anesthesiologists and say “when I wake up, can you remind me that I still didn’t believe in god up until the end?”.. I don’t register a response, but it is a good thing he already measured the anesthesia out… And as far as I can tell I look down and see the surgical assistant shaving my foot. My head hits the back of the table roughly. Didn’t Christ have someone wash his foot? Static and then black. It would be nice to say that that was my last thought before the dark. But there were more thoughts, purely inconsequential and largely broken. Some were random. I know I thought about bikes for some reason.  I thought a lot of riding my bike. I remember thinking of mosquitoes. No idea where that came from.

I woke up later and at the first thought of consciousness I begin asking questions. the Anesthesiologist is talking me awake and then he vanishes. I realize now he failed in my personal request. The nurse begins escorting me out. I am asking everyone questions. How long was I out? How did it go? How was I as a patient? did it take longer then normal to knock me out?  The nurse turned and said this, “You talked a lot while you were out. Asked a lot of questions. I was concerned but the doctors weren’t. Want something to drink? ” and that was the last I saw of the surgical team before I met Mary and left the Surgicare center.

What the hell did she mean I asked a lot of questions? What were they? she didn’t tell me. I asked the doctor last Saturday, and he couldn’t remember exactly, which I’m very pleased to hear. He had more important things to do then pay attention to my rambling. WHAT THE HELL DID I ASK!? what did I talk about. Why didn’t she tell me more? was it a stock statement? Give someone fear that they have a demon spawned inquisitioner inside them that is only let out when the consciousness is stripped out?

No idea. Ok Mary went to sleep. I have more of my week to tell you. That was the most interesting part though.