I was in the operating room with my international space station crew, a badly cast all dude line up: Yasir, the nurse barely keeping all the tufts of chest hair under his t-shirt put on for that reason under his scrubs, Gene, late to the scene (his own sitcom title), who helped move me from rolling bed to scene of the crime bed, short sleeved with fresh from the gym bulgy arms on a vw bug body, the doctor, ahhh the doctor who until 45 minutes ago was in downtown Los Angeles and said What Surgery when they called. Christophe Lee, who definitely got best hair in high school.
I knew we were in trouble hours ago when I first got wheeled into pre-op, all socked and gowned and hatted for surgery, I'd already been there for two hours just to get to this point, and the series of hairnetted lunchlady nurses kept passing saying oh dr lee he always here an hour ahead, saying where's my patient oh he so prompt, he so good
and I'm thinking I hope so since this happened a week ago where I was waiting and then sent home cause they fucked up my surgery by not getting the paperwork together and also I can read a clock and it's already a half hour to go
then I meet Yasir and the anesthesiologist who looks like a Glendale High School track star stoner who asks me the same questions they keep asking me like they didn't believe me the first time
did I eat anything
for reals, tho
do I have any metal or implants or loose teeth
any jewelry or piercings where they can't see now that's just curiosity
did I bring anything of value, (just a wallet) and does it have less than $100 dollars in it (I guess they don't bother buying everyone beers unless it's over a hundred)
I'm ready. Then an hour dawdles by. It's nice there because it's just me and a bed and people's diffused voices and I don't have to do anything for anyone. I am telling them in my mind, though, because I've been here before, umm someone should call the doctor
eventually lunchlady nurse comes up to my curtain oh the doctor
here it goes
said he wasn't aware there was a procedure today.
really
he's at the downtown LA office, he'll be here 45 minutes
ok yeah. I'm really looking forward to writing my first ever yelp review of this also I haven't eaten since before yodeling was invented but yeah, you know tell him to drive carefully
I lay there thinking about him in his 90,000 dollar car wondering what it looks like and how flyaway his hair must look in it, like when he made the cover of Boy Surgeons. Also why his name is Christophe when he's Asian. I picture him calling his office and the expletives littered out his car window as he hopefully fires his scheduler while speeding along the 5.
then we're all there, in the floating space station, Yasir and Gene, Dr Late, and Glendale stoner. They press the trigger.
I wake up with Beth, the hiking travel nurse from Chicago, everybody's kindhearted large cousin, and first I am fine and then pain sees a door and busts in in spikey workboots and I'm saying IT'S AN 8 BETH and there's talking on the phone where she arranges for (Matt) Dilauded and (Chrissy) Toredal, the prom king and queen of narcotics, to join me in my body.
I would like dilauded for Christmas. I see why people live in dumpsters. When you have dilauded, it's ok if all the people and places go away. In fact when they wake you up it's annoying.
Which is why I don't drink
Anyway I get home in a blur with a hand wrapped bulging like an old time UPS package, the kids are smiling and doing stuff I usually do and Patrick brought flowers and dilauded remnants and I slide into bed and I hear Barry and Nathan wrangling my mom into her night diaper and Kurt doing the horses outside and it is funny cause I'm not doing any of it and they do a good job
and I hope my hand is fixed and I love my family 31 text messages and I sleep knowing they will be there for me in the morning, and always, they are everything, my real blankets and pillows, I am not in a dumpster
