Yesterday I had that certain middle-aged procedure with the yucky prep which shall go unnamed, and I was put out with propofol. Conrad Murray was not on the premises. I asked. Twice. The pre-op nurse laughed and said he wasn't there. The anesthesiologist took it more seriously; Murray wasn't qualified to administer propofol. Fortunately, he was.
The nerves hit me as I was wheeled into the "procedure room.". It looked like a small hospital operating room. The anesthiologist waited for my doctor to finish an urgent call before loading my iv. I was watching some monitor as I felt a little chill in my vein. And then, I didn't.
Some time later - could have been two minutes or two years - I gently awakened in another room. No nausea. No grogginess. No disorientation. Peaceful.
No comments:
Post a Comment