What’s so general about anaesthesia? It’s not general or local in my opinion. It’s a loss of consciousness, though I’m alive in another world. It’s ethereal, alcohol, temporal. It’s hard to explain. Air feels funny. No. Air feels immediate; both new and old all at once.
My head is capped in blue elastic. I am wheeled from pre-op into surgery like all those tv shows I watch. The nurses stop midway to say this is their favorite part. What is this, candid camera? It’s time for kisses goodbye. They give my wife motivation, but no privacy and she has an acute case of stage fright, but I’d give her a standing ovation for the kiss she planted squarely on my lips–if only I had the ability to stand.
“Tell the girls I love them,” I said as I rolled away. My wife says she slipped my wedding band back on my finger at 1pm, but I don’t recall. I also don’t remember the lobby harpist playing Somewhere Over the Rainbow. I was so happy; not in a general way but in an inside-and-out sort of way.
My wife knows me–how sometimes I get teary-eyed when I think of how blessed I am to have her and the kids in my life–how sometimes I get teary-eyed when I listen to a song that resonates with my heart. My wife says I opened my arms to her with tears of joy and we hugged like I was a soldier home from war. They tell me I kept saying, “Praise God.” Praise God! I guess that’s my heart’s song, without the rainbows and harp strings.