I had to go to the hospital for a small medical procedure this week. Don’t worry, everything is fine, but it’s something I have been putting off for a long time.
Anyway, I had to go under general anesthesia before the Doctor could operate. I was a little nervous, more about going under the knife and the pain I might feel afterwards than about my lack of consciousness. The Anesthesiologist was a sweet and lovable looking Indian man, with kind green eyes, and he assured me that everything would be fine. I allowed myself to be comforted by him and went under quietly and without a fight.
When I woke up, John was sitting beside me.
Me: It’s done?
John: Yeah, it took no time at all.
Me: Did I poop on the table?
John: No, not that I know of.
Pooping on the table has been a big concern of mine since before I had kids. I always heard about women who went into labor and had a bowel movement while trying to push out the baby. This terrified me since and I was having no part of it, as long as I could control it.
The nurse came in and gave me some grape juice. I was quite capable of putting the straw in myself but instead I allowed John to unwrap and stick it in the little juice box hole.
I’m not stupid. I was going to milk as much as I could out of this hospital visit.
The Doctor came in mid-sip.
Doctor: You did great. Everything went well and you shouldn’t have any complications. Any questions?
Me: Did I poop on the table?
Doctor: Um. No. You didn’t.
Me: Good. Well thanks for everything!
Doctor: (Turning to John) You have the discharge instructions. Make sure she gets a lot of rest the next few days. (Turning to me) Now you can go back to writing your blog. Any questions?
Whoa, there, Doc. Back the heck up.
How did he know about my blog? I must have looked at him funny.
Doctor: Doctor X is looking at it right now. It’s good stuff.
And he turned around and walked out.
John: You told him about your blog?
Me: No. (shaking my head). Maybe they looked it up?
It made total sense to me that while I was under, quietly drooling out of the side of my mouth and being busy not pooping, that the following conversation could take place:
Nurse: Who is this incredible woman on the table in front of us, with the questionable taste in nail polish color?
Doctor X: I don’t know. But I sense there’s a story. Maybe we should Google her.
Upon Googling me, they would find that I was, in fact, the proud writer of a blog. I still found this rather odd, but completely within reason.
At that moment, Dr. X walked into the room.
Doctor X: Hey Masala Chica! Love your blog. It’s great.
Me: How did….?
Doctor X: Oh. Well, you told me all about it while you were asleep.
John: Oh no. You didn’t.
Me: Oh shit.
Until this point, I didn’t know you could have conversations with people when you were under. Who knows what else I confided in him? Did I tell him about how I successfully delivered two children without pooping on a table? Did I inform him about my undying love for Jon Bon Jovi? That the one fashion trend I miss most of the eighties was the banana clip?
What else had I shared with him?
I wonder if I asked him to “like” me on Facebook? To follow me on Twitter?
God. Please. No.
I’m embarrassing enough when I am conscious. I write this blog when I’m conscious. Well, mostly anyway. What is the unconscious me capable of saying?
I guess I’ll never know.
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