Everyone But Me

 214.

I am considering the wisdom more than the poetry. Fight or flight, the central nervous system's built-in survival mechanism is officially in play. I recognize this as the narcotic cocktail used for anesthesia during the forty-seven minute procedure is slowly metabolized and I start the journey from darkness back towards the light. I rationalize that since I cannot take flight I had better put the dukes up and defend myself, because in this drugged state of awareness purgatory I am being chased by demons and devils who are catching up to me at an alarming rate as I have but a single arm to spin the wheels of my chair. I hear myself cry for more speed, faster, and lastly, 'Don't even think about surrender.'

I wake to an alarmed audience apparently caught up in the drama as all eyes are upon me. I am slightly embarrassed as I auto correct my vision and recollection of the situation. One of the nurses puts a calming hand on my shoulder and I instantly relax upon her touch. There is more chaos in the small room than before the start of the procedure, nurses, techs and assistants mopping up. I quickly bring my awareness back to the present moment and make an assessment of the situation. Always a third option: Relax and breathe deep. Fight, flight or freeze. I am all ice.

Making a critical analysis of my current state of being, I step it down and accept the reality of post-op fatigue. Outside of the dull ache in my head, everything seems 'normal' at least nothing worse than prior to the procedure. This applies, my intuition tells me, to more than simply the physical. The door opens and The Neurologist, leading the way with Drysdale holding it for her, enters the room. They are all smiles and I consider that for once, every star in the galaxy could be perfectly aligned.

"How ya feeling?" she asks placing her hand on my good arm, where I feel an immediate electrical charge.

"Like I've been playing Australian Rules Football with Tasmanian Devils."

She doesn't seem to get the macho-sports simile, but grins when Drysdale snorts a knowing response. She looks from Drysdale back to me, saying that while I was out playing with the boys, they have had a very productive conversation, a home-run, she tries.

I look at Drysdale and he gives me the 'thumbs-up' nod, all good, nothing like a walk-off homer to end a match.

"Alright then, when do I get outta here so we can get back to work?" I inquire of no one in particular.

Dr. Sandhi returns to bedside, looks at the stat-board for vitals and says, "Tomorrow, we need to monitor you overnight - tomorrow, that is, if everything is first-rate and copacetic."

Drysdale, totally out-of-character, laughs again saying that 'there is no way he will be first-rate, let alone copacetic by tomorrow." Everyone in the room laughs, his intention all along being to add some goodnatured levity into the terse atmosphere.

Everyone laughs but me.