CHOOSE RANT

Title:   Anaesthesia Dreams Day:    March 8th, 1999 Author:  Ruiner Song Reference:  'Coma', by Guns 'N'Roses. " Kinda like it in a coma,   Cos no one's ever gonna,   Make me come back to this,   World again"				I just felt like writing a little something about my recent episode with surgery. The process of having your body opened up for repair is slightly disturbing, but altogether not that bad of an experience. First the facts: I had arthroscopic surgery performed on my knee to determine why it buckled and gave me a good deal of pain. The surgery was no problem, and it seems as though my doctor found the problem (a misgrown piece of bone) and solved it. I say seems only because I'm nearing the end of my recovery phase and who knows at this point? My guess is that I'm good to go. Overall, it was a painless process for me, for I was visiting with the muse known as Anesthesia. During my pre-op visit, I talked briefly with my anesthesiologist about what would happen. Luckily, my doc had preferred me to go for general anesthesia, which for the uninformed is when they completely knock you out. I was fine with this, because I could not imagine sitting there, bored for a couple of hours (I think the surgery took nearly two) while these guys cut on me. I have no problems with what was done in the operating theatre, but knock me out, please! I'd probably sit there, trying to make pitiful small talk during the affair like a complete dweeb. So anyway, day of surgery comes, which is something of a hassle. You see, for the upcoming operation, you are not supposed to have anything to drink or eat after midnight of the night before. The night wasn't that bad, but trying to keep me away from my Mountain Dew addiction requires a Herculean effort. I'm surprised that I don't bleed green, let me tell you. Anway, I toughed it through that and tried to remain fairly out of it until arriving at the Ambulatory Surgical Center. So at the Center, early in the morn, I was reading one of my books (one of many I would crush in my upcoming recovery phase). Quickly, they call me to 'Come on Down!' and get ready. I go through the fun stuff, like disrobing, getting my IV and all that. And they tell me that my doc is running late with his previous operation. So I get to wait. They turn off the light in my cubicle-like space and leave me there with a drip IV with 'antibiotics' in. Now my brain is rushing a bit, just because I haven't done this in so long. I should sort of segue back to my previous surgery. Within a month, my last surgery was 20 years before, getting my tonsils removed. And I vividly remember them trying to put me to sleep. I felt so tough, just because it took them a while to get the amount right for putting me down. I never thought about the fact that I was only about eighty pounds and they couldn't give me a normal dose cos' it would kill me. Anyway, times for me feeling indestructible were few and far between, so I should savor them. So I'm thinking about this, and wondering if they still play the games to 'trick' patients, even when they have very compliant ones like myself? Maybe they have already put some of the anesthesia in my arm, and I'm just to naive to realize this? My brain latching onto that thought, I get sleepy. Nevermind that it's dark, and I didn't sleep great the night before, I'm convinced in an X-Files/Millennium manner that they've drugged me already and not told me. So I wait and start drifting. But I don't sleep. A nurse comes by in a while, and I verify that No, they have not put anything in me yet and I would definitely know this. So I felt silly, but hey, it's surgery and I can be afforded that bit. So after a while (an interminably long while), I'm taken to the operating theatre, as I like to call it. I shouldn't say I was taken, since I got to walk on in. Let me say, that was probably the most disturbing part. Walking into the room with people looking very sterile and faceless, implements of my destruction nearby. And me, with only my shift and underwear to protect me, the guest of honor in this little party. I lay down on the table and realize that I'm a bit wide for this. I'm something of a big guy, broad-shouldered and all, and my arms want to hang down over the sides. Then they point out that my arms go onto these extensions to the side, much like being strapped down and crucified. Charming, I must say. The nurse, anesthesthist, anesthesiologist, whatever she was, from behind me tells me that I may not remember much after that point. So here I'm expecting the little game once more from my youth. 'Count to 20. Oh you did that, well count to 20 again. Hmm, not working yet? Well count backwards from 20 down. Dang, try a hundred.' No such luck. I looked around at the various personas, trying to discern which one of the clones was my doctor/surgeon, and then everything goes blank. She wasn't kidding when she implied that it would kick my butt. Now I have to say that I was a tad disappointed. Here I was expecting to go into a full-blown REM session with my brain compensating for the grievous things being done to my body. I wanted vivid, full motion dreams that I could talk of and use as springboards for my writing. I wanted a dreamscape event, I tell you. I got nothing. As far as my brain knows, I blinked and teleported from the opera room to a bed with my father beside me, groggy as hell. Well they always say that teleporting like that drains you considerably. But I'm not going to really complain. Everything that happened went without a hitch, and I'm thankful for my good health to be sure. Recovery was a pain, having to deal with a lack of mobility and being looked after by my mother. For all I fuss and complain, I really do love her and appreciate all she did over that while. It still drove me crazy at times, but that goes without mentioning. Anyways, I guess my revelation is that maybe I should use the anesthesia dreams themselves as a springboard. I have this horrible feeling that being in a coma is similar, being out of it and not even being afforded the luxury of dreams. Now that, to me, would be hell. Maybe Axl Rose has a line on it we just don't understand (see the song, Coma). But who knows? If you ever run across a novel by that title (A.D.), check the author, you never know who it might be… B.Mooney