The two preliminary visits had gone smoothly. I had a good vibe with the doctor, and I felt confident in his ability. The walls of his office were lined with awards from the American Medical Association, and his stark white hair was reassuring. Coupled with a youthful way of speaking and moving around, the man radiated confidence and experience.
He told me he’d have my gallbladder out in an hour and a half, and I would be home in my living room watching baseball that night. The aforementioned good vibe allowed me to say, “Hey, baseball and a little something for the pain? Doesn’t get much better than that, does it, Dr. Nelson?”
“Trust me, you’ll be feeling no pain.” And he winked, closing his leather-bound folder and thus closing out our final meeting before the next day’s surgery.
***
I walked through the sliding glass doors of the white stucco building with the feeling that only a person headed for surgery has. I fluctuated seamlessly between dread and optimism. I couldn’t help but think about the anesthesia not working, or Dr. Nelson hitting an artery and killing me on accident. A stream of blood, squirting garden hose style out of my wound and onto the doctor’s perfectly tanned face, reddening his white hair. But the next moment I thought of life without the splitting pain I’d been living with. In the elevator I settled on the thought that I was on my way up to have the thing done, and I wasn’t going to stop myself now. What happens, happens.
When I walked through the heavy wooden door into the waiting room of Dr. Nelson’s office, the receptionist was different from the one I had seen in my previous two visits. She was much prettier than the dumpy forty-year-old who must have had the day off.
“Hello, you must be Shawn,” the new receptionist said as the heavy door closed behind me.
“That’s right, Sarah,” I replied, looking at the name badge on her chest.
“Can I get you something to drink while you wait? Dr. Nelson is just finishing up with another patient.”
“Um, no thanks.”
“Good answer, Shawn. That was a test, just making sure you’ve been following through with your end of the pre-surgery routine,” she chuckled lightly. I guessed she pulled that joke on every patient that walked through the door.
After a short wait, during which I stared at a page of Sports Illustrated without reading a single word, a nurse opened a door next to the reception desk and called my name, looking around the room, presumably out of habit, although I was its only occupant. I stood up, dropping the magazine on the round table in front of me, and followed her down a narrow hall, into the operating room.
The nurse pulled a curtain, behind which I was instructed to change into a gown. Then she had me lie down on the bed, after which she flipped some switches, moving it into the position that best suited my particular surgery.
“I’m going to administer the anesthesia now, okay Shawn?”
I nodded. She produced a mask and fitted it over my head.
“Now, this will take a few minutes to completely take effect, and Dr. Nelson will be with you in just a moment.”
I nodded again, feeling the drugs already. The nurse left the room and closed the door. There was a thump against the wall, out in the hallway. I thought she must have tripped, moved against the wall while someone passed. Then I heard a quiet shriek, and I was a little unsettled. But the heaven that I was breathing took that feeling away as quickly as it had come.
My eyes were heavy and I was wondering where I could buy some of this wonderful gas when I heard the door open behind me. Dr. Nelson. Time to have my gallbladder removed. A funny word, gallbladder, I thought to myself while the doctor’s footsteps grew near.
“Hello Shawn,” a man with black hair and a pale face said.
I shook my head, unable to produce words. My hands felt cemented to the bed, stitched down to the blanket underneath me. The man was wearing a pair of jeans and a white dress shirt, the top few buttons undone.
“Shawn, don’t panic, Dr. Nelson is, well, preoccupied. But I’ll get you all fixed up.” He looked around the room and started pulling open drawers, shutting them, and opening others. He turned toward me with a scalpel in his hand and and no gloves on, and sat down next to the bed where Dr. Nelson had performed thousands of successful surgeries.
My eyes closed and the world went black.
