Day Surgery

I always thought that biopsies were keyhole procedures. When the doctor suggested the procedure, I assumed that he would just be sticking something into my neck whilst I sat quietly in his clinic. But he explained that it was a day surgery involving sedation, and I would be in the operating theatre. So yes I would be quiet but no I wasn't going to be sitting upright. But I am not wimpy - I have been in an operating theatre twice before and faced it calmly. Watching my two younger kids being yanked out from my wife's abdomen during c-sections isn't something that everyone can stomach so I consider myself initiated.

Although this was supposed to be a fast and simple procedure I was nevertheless conscious of my mortality. I took a good look at my three kids and wife before I left home in the morning. They are precious and in good hands. The rest of the day at the hospital gave me a lot of time to gaze at the ceiling. I went to the hospital in shorts, t-shirt and flip flops but even then I had to change into something more basic. The nurse's instruction was to change into the blue operation gown, put on the disposable "panties", and remove the watch and all jewelleries. I thought she was generalising when she referred to "panties", but later I realised that maybe she wasn't. I guess I wouldn't be the first guy wearing one. It really puts things into perspective. Whatever you think you own and however good you think you look, you can't bring any of this into an operation. Perhaps a glimpse of what entering the pearly gates is like, you don't get to talk about what a superstar you were or what you owned.

I always wondered what it would be like to be sedated. Would it feel like I would struggle to remain consciousness as consciousness is taken away from me, like in one of those spy movies? Would the doctor check if I was conscious by asking me if I was conscious? And what if I felt conscious and wanted to tell him not to start? In my case, he asked me if I felt anything, and I said yes as I was beginning to feel a need for a good nap.

This was a minor surgery and I wasn't particularly anxious, well maybe I was anxious about whether they would serve me the chicken porridge I ordered for my post-op lunch. But lying on the operating table, looking up at the many clusters of operating theatre lights, I was reminded that the membrane between this life and the next is paper thin. This life is real, so is the next.