Tasha’s Big Day, revisited

I showed up at the Prentice on Monday morning ready for battle, determined to fight the good fight, to win one for the Gipper, to do whatever it took, etc. I’m talking about getting my witty banter, of course.

For good measure, I had homemade brownies with me, to bribe whoever I needed to – so I was making friends as soon as I walked in the door, with the two guys working security at the front desk. I knew if I had to be sprung outta this joint for some reason, I could count on these guys to cover for me. Brownies will do that.

So we schlep our way upstairs, and just as I’m contemplating their waiting room computers, where yet again the homepage is NOT set to my blog for some strange reason, I get called into my pre-op room, to get prepped, chat with the surgeon, and get doped up. And unlike last time, where it was clear to me why Mr. Rolling Eyes became an anesthesiologist, this guy is very pleasant, and we chat about hockey and sundry other things. Including my hatred of the whole “forget everything” drug, as I’m now calling it, and about which I sound crazily paranoid.

“Is that the forgetting drug? Is this where I start to not remember anything? Is that it now?”

I’m happy to report however that after a long, drawn-out epic battle and argument, I get my way.

Anesthesiologist: “Oh sure, I can not give you the drug, and then you’ll remember everything until we put you under in the operating room. That’s not a problem at all!”

Whew, I’m still recuperating from the struggle THAT was.

And of course, when anyone asks what procedure I'm having done, I note that we're doing the Lat Flap "to take care of the Appalachian Mountain Boob problem, of course." Yes, I throw around that technical term quite freely - Appalachian Mountain Boob - and accompany it with a slashing motion with my hand, as if one were shearing the top off a mountain, like they do in Appalachia. Which is all completely non-related to the idea of "hiking the Appalachian Trial", just to make that clear. Or more confusing -I'm not sure which.

So after all that fussing, what did my witty banter consist of, or at least my contribution to it?

- some mention of Nurse Ratched, though I don’t recall exactly what the context was

- “So what kind of music do you listen to during surgery? Could you please make sure you do NOT include any Huey Lewis and the News, or any Jefferson Starship, especially that “We Built This City” song, which is the most heinous song known to man?

- “Dr. Fine, you know your reputation precedes you - all the YSC girls are going to be checking out your latest handiwork, comparing mine and Cori's and Jen's - I'm just sayin'…”

- “Hey, how come it’s so bright in here? On Grey’s Anatomy, it’s always so dark in the operating rooms, which really doesn’t make much sens…..mphsdfhoihofiahiho…”

I guess it was time to put me under at that point, as I got the little mask over my mouth, even though they were still puttering around getting ready. Hmm.

(to be continued)