A Patient Diary -- Part II
I am rudely awoken at 6 am by a hospital attendant, who then calmly proceeded to depilate the concerned area.
I stare at the clock on the wall opposite the bed as it meticulously inches towards cutting-up time. Well, not really. I did stare at it for about ten minutes, then gave up and went back to Morrell. This apprenhension and worry thing does not me bespeak, methinks.
At 10.15, as promised, a couple of strong-armed attendants arrive to take me to my doom.
Holding the IV line (the attender) and walking out of the room (me), I lay down on the gurney. My muscular attenders then wheeled the gurney down to the operation theatre on the first floor.
We see so much of this scene in the movies. Somebody being wheeled on the gurney and his frantic beloved running after it, holding the IV line. We should all try it from the perspective of the person lying down. I assure you, it is not pleasant. Lying down on that thing, all you can see clearly is the ceiling. The gurney was wheeled through the corridoors into the elevator. I saw L1, L2, L3, L4, and L5 rushing past me in a blur. I would have seen L6 too, but we reached the lift.
The lift went down surprisingly fast. Time is relative. Einstein is GOD.
They transferred me from one gurney to another and the door of the op-theat closed, leaving me marooned in horror land. Everywhere I see, there are green and purple gowns, and people, whose faces are covered in green masks.
Even the air seems lifeless, in suspended animation.
Drip. Drip.
They are wheeling me in, now, and with smiling eyes the anaesthetist drags out a long syringe, puts it into the nozzle of the IV gauze and presses the plunger. A cool liquid flows into my veins.
I turn my head to look at the IV line.
Drip. Dri......
I stare at the clock on the wall opposite the bed as it meticulously inches towards cutting-up time. Well, not really. I did stare at it for about ten minutes, then gave up and went back to Morrell. This apprenhension and worry thing does not me bespeak, methinks.
At 10.15, as promised, a couple of strong-armed attendants arrive to take me to my doom.
Holding the IV line (the attender) and walking out of the room (me), I lay down on the gurney. My muscular attenders then wheeled the gurney down to the operation theatre on the first floor.
We see so much of this scene in the movies. Somebody being wheeled on the gurney and his frantic beloved running after it, holding the IV line. We should all try it from the perspective of the person lying down. I assure you, it is not pleasant. Lying down on that thing, all you can see clearly is the ceiling. The gurney was wheeled through the corridoors into the elevator. I saw L1, L2, L3, L4, and L5 rushing past me in a blur. I would have seen L6 too, but we reached the lift.
The lift went down surprisingly fast. Time is relative. Einstein is GOD.
They transferred me from one gurney to another and the door of the op-theat closed, leaving me marooned in horror land. Everywhere I see, there are green and purple gowns, and people, whose faces are covered in green masks.
Even the air seems lifeless, in suspended animation.
Drip. Drip.
They are wheeling me in, now, and with smiling eyes the anaesthetist drags out a long syringe, puts it into the nozzle of the IV gauze and presses the plunger. A cool liquid flows into my veins.
I turn my head to look at the IV line.
Drip. Dri......
posted by Dispatcher | 12:10
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