Double Vision: A Personal History
I am lying in a hospital bed inside the staging area of a busy surgery center in Scottsdale, Arizona. It is early in the morning, and yet there is a thrum of activity all around us. I watch comfortable-looking sneakers stream by under the privacy curtain at the foot of the bed. Lisa holds my left hand, the one without the IV. I am no stranger to hospitals, but until now, I’ve been the one in the visitor’s chair. I take deep breaths, but my heart thumps like a piston in my chest. Fight or flight.
A nurse comes in to check my vitals.
“Oh, you’re nervous, aren’t you?” She asks as she removes the blood pressure cuff from my arm. I’m still thinking about that two-page surgery consent form I signed.
An anesthesiologist joins the nurse, and they chat about the heavy traffic this morning. I wonder what I can say to stop all this, to get back in the car and get the hell out of here, but before I can think of a good enough reason, Lisa is kissing me and wishing me luck, and I am wheeled away into surgery.
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