I am not a big fan of surgical procedures, but anesthesia definitely excites me. It excites me because, unlike the illegal drugs that any college student is bound to be offered, it does something that your body already does nearly every day – and it does it better. I am of the firm believe that nearly all ‘drugs’ emulate a natural perception or function that your body can achieve in the short term, whether or not chemistry supports my theory. Anesthesia is something entirely different though, pulling the a shade down on your consciousness in the blink of an eye and leaving you in a deep slumber that you are helpless to arise from.


I’ve only been under twice and both times when i was instructed to count backwards from ninety-nine i did so with quiet excitement – knowing that modern medicine was about to work its magic on me. I think that’s what keeps me from getting to unnerved by whatever they’ll do to me while i’m asleep; i am fascinated by my unscheduled nap, the utter blackness that exists without turning over or being bothered by noise. It’s peaceful.


Today at my appointment the doctor began to go through a litany of warnings about the inherent dangers of being put under, a speech during which my mother usually can be found nervously clenching and unclenching her fists. She wasn’t invited to this appointment though; she went down the shore instead. As the litany moved on to postoperative dangers i remained calm, just thinking about the unfailing quiet that awaits me in twelve short days.


The doctor was impressed by my lack of nerves as she spoke of bleeding out, i think.