My afternoon as a mouse in a maze
Even a refrigerator that has suffered the onslaught of a family week holds temptations. My day began with a medical fast, and the time from midnight to midday was a test of intestinal fortitude. Many times I approached the door and many times I turned back, aware that if a medical authority requests an empty belly, there is a good reason. My morning ended without incident.
Today was O-day. My spouse accompanied me to the designated wing of the hospital, where I donned blue booties over my shoes and waited for my turn behind the green (blue) door. Within the hour, I was summoned into a ward room filled with “beds on wheels” and traded my polo for a smock. My glasses were tucked away in the toe of my shoe (no longer required, since I had a stretcher) and I lay back for the afternoon. The bag of saline (just like in every movie I’ve ever seen), a robotic pressure cuff and a finger pincher to check my pulse (with sound effects reminiscent of a game of Pong) meant that the time was at hand. The nurses checked and rechecked my name and my intentions, and then we were off for a roll through the maze of corridors.
The next hour leaves me perplexed. I know I was there. I know that somebody asked me several times if I felt any pain. I can’t tell you if the lights were on or off, or if anyone actually touched my eye. Total lack of sensation. I think I may have snored once or twice, and there were a series of disjointed dream sequences that had me wanting to play tuba and count in odd number patterns. And then the doctor was done. I was wheeled back through the same maze and give a small piece of cheese. I have a white eyepatch and a recall for the morning. Truly a strange way to spend the afternoon.
