All is Well: Going Under

The anesthesiologist stood behind my head as I lay on the surgical table, then leaned over to introduce himself. He was not the young white guy who had slouched against the door frame of the room where I was being prepped an hour before. That anesthesiologist was white with brown shoulder length hair that I wished he’d tuck into a ponytail. He folded his arms, trying to look either cool or nonchalant, maybe thinking casting an air of casual confidence would work well with an older woman, easily impressed.

He explained what would happen including a part about being intubated, a detail I told him I didn’t need to know if I wasn’t going to be awake to participate in the process. He dropped the topic but later that night, after the surgery, I saw a bruise at the corner of my mouth and figured it must have been done. I don’t know why. No one ever said and I didn’t ask.

The anesthesiologist in the operating room was also young, but Black. He said his name very fast so I didn’t catch it which was fine because I knew it would be our only meeting. He was smiling under his mask, I could tell that much and remember it, the friendliness being an important thing at the time. Slipping his hand under my hospital gown, he put electrodes on my chest and then a mask over my face. His hands were soft and swift. Efficient. “Breathe deeper. Take big breaths,” he said. So that is what I did.

I remember the last time – when I had surgery for my first cochlear implant – I decided to think of paddling our canoe while I was going under. I thought there is really nothing more serene than paddling a canoe unless you are in a fast river or a lake where the wind has suddenly turned. Then paddling, especially if you are in the front of the canoe is fraught with worry. I am afraid of running into things and of white water in general. Still, thinking of paddling worked that first time though it was probably only a couple of strokes until I was unconscious.

This time, I couldn’t decide between paddling and something else similarly serene. I left this choice until the last minute, so I went under to the sounds of the debate in my head, an unresolved question, pros and cons batting a ball back and forth over the net for what seemed like many seconds but was probably just two or three. It didn’t matter. I was gone from deciding anything. That is a remarkable thing when I think about it, letting everything about myself be in the hands of strangers, except for the anesthesiologist who smiled at me through his mask. He seemed to be my friend.