Prepped for some light anesthesia for eye surgery yesterday, I recalled the last negative experience I had had after my recent colonoscopy. Against the doctor’s orders and written instructions, we had breezed over to Buca’s restaurant. Dehydrated from fasting and apparently with drugs still working, I ordered a plateful of spaghetti and meatballs, dug in, and quickly fainted. Paramedics were called. It was all my fault, but perhaps my new anesthetist should know about it.
So just before being wheeled into the OR yesterday, I thought to mention the experience the last time I was drugged for surgery: “Doctor,” I said gravely as she was leaving, "Before we go in, I want to make a confession.”
Entirely misunderstanding, she quickly replied, “Oh no, we don’t do that here.”
She was soon relieved to hear that the burden I had on my soul was the premature spaghetti and meatballs at Buca’s.
I’ve learned my lesson, I promised, we laughed, and were good to go.
