There are very few pros to what happened next.
I had just barely recovered from the visual trauma of the imprint of the nurse's butt in the curtain, backing up into the limited space already fully occupied by my very narrow gurney, layered on the assault on my inner ear of the high-pitched whine of the Remington 500 applied to the correct knee of my nearest neighbor, Oral Surgeon_Cube 2.
Kathryn, the OR nurse (and BTW, the SECOND Kathryn of that specific spelling I had been introduced that morning, myself not included, which made three in the same building on any given morning, freaky in and of itself) had settled in and started to chat.
Let me just add that at this point, no lovely, clear liquid inducing the "Wwhheeee! Can we roll down the hallway again?" response had been added yet to my escape-preventive IV.
Kathryn Of The Blue OR Cap began apologizing that we were a few minutes late heading in to the operating room.
"We're just waiting for the rep. From the company that makes the machine that will be doing your surgery."
"Oh, wait... Is that her?" she asked of another blue-gowned, blue-capped Queen of the Nether Realms.
Yes, it was the rep. It would just be a few minutes while she "... told the doctor how the new machine worked."
Fabu. I was Patient #1 on the New Machine.
I hadn't known going in how keen I would be to see the anesthesiologist. But at some points in your life, you just have to trust that 1) God is in control, 2) new machines must be better than old machines, 3) medical device reps have a vested interest in doctors understanding REALLY well how the 'chinery is asspossedta work, and that it does, and 4) you will be blissfully unconscious in the unlikely event that variables 2&3 above turn out to be not true.
Anybody ever said the words "God, I trust you" and "Jeronimo!" in the same breath?
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