The folks at Bassett were great. How they keep their dignity in this line of work is way beyond me. Steve Pickett was my nurse. He asked me my name 10 times. I guess that’s the law or something. I assured him that I was the same guy on the gurney who was here 10 minutes before. He started my IV drip. “You’ll feel a little poke here,” he said quietly. I did not. Good job, Steve!
I was finally guernied into the operating room, procedure room, medical arena or whatever they call it.
It was all lights, buzzers, computers, monitors and tubes. Actually it reminded me of the captain’s deck of the spaceship in “Star Trek.” And once the sedatives started coursing through my veins, the line between reality and imagination began to blur.
Dr. Luis Oceguera was my Captain Kirk. His uniform was the scrubs and hair net in the hue of Bassett Blue. My uniform was a delightful little one-piece number from the stylists of the fashion house of Rue de Medicine. It was a nice fit, but I noticed that the designer left off a big piece of fabric. Right around my backside.
Nurse Carrie Handy asked me what kind of music I would like to listen to as the sedative drip began to chill my veins. “How about a little Ella Fitzgerald,” I told her. She nodded.
Capt. Kirk, um, I mean Dr. Oceguera, guided his space probe to infinity and beyond with the whole magical journey appearing on a TV set right before me. As my eyelids got heavy from the sedation I felt that I was nearing the looking glass and getting a little punchy. I think I even waved once to the screen and whispered, “Hi colon. It’s me. Big Chuck.” Nurse Krystyn Hamm smiled and rolled her eyes. Things started to get a little fuzzy. Absolutely no pain. But fuzzy.