“Aren’t you going to give me a shot to knock me out before you cut me open?
“No. Don’t need.”
(2 minutes later)
“need. need.” (repeat times 12)
“It’s ok. 19 more to go.” the doctor says with the wry humour of a dead puppy.
My eyes roll back as he makes the next incision and the knife introduces me to pain like a shot of Tabasco sauce to the back of the throat.
I gasp, a little, and then make the mistake of looking down toward my pelvis to see my skin sliced open an inch deep.
And then, darkness, black like the night. Only to wake up , perhaps a moment later, perhaps longer (?) with vision blurred by the water in my eyes.
My face collapses to the right and as a gentle tear rolls down my cheek and drops a moment later on the cold silver operating table I think I see a friend looking at me and she smiles at me.
I was thinking how is that possible that she’s in the room with me – and then I felt – almost in slow motion – the scalpel insert its way through my abdomen once again.
Once more I’m thrown into the darkness of my subconscious mind , this time surrounded by a room full of broken clocks, swirling among one another down a circular chasm toward oblivion.
I wanted to cry for somebody to come hold me.
Strangely, there’s nothing much more I remember after that.
The surgery – was an awful experience.
But it’s over. Now here I am on my sofa writing to you because these pain killers haven’t fully taken effect just yet.
I’m off until the 12th.
Until then I breathe. And while I breathe, I hope.