Imagine that some prankster with a sharp knife knocks you out, slashes your skin just above the collar bone, inserts a large Lego block, and sews you back up again. How do you feel when you wake up?
I'm still getting accustomed to the feeling of the medi-port a surgeon installed in my chest on Friday. It's a sophisticated piece of medical technology designed to deliver chemotherapy infusions with ease, but it looks like an errant piece of Lego block--I can even feel the bumps through the skin. It feels like a juvenile prank gone horribly wrong.
I might have welcomed my new port a little more robustly if I'd had a more pleasant experience with the anesthesia. Friday morning I read an article in the New York Times about propofol, the drug Michael Jackson was taking, which is supposed to provide sedation without nausea and leave one with a feeling of mild euphoria, a feeling so pleasant that even doctors, who ought to know better, are getting hooked. (Read it here.)
I could use a little euphoria in my life right now, but no such luck: my propofol drip delivered a bad case of vertigo and nausea. Where's my euphoria? Whom shall I sue? And how does anyone ever get addicted to this horrible stuff?
Maybe my dose of euphoria was delivered to someone else by accident. I'd like to find that person and make a trade: for a full dose of euphoria, I'll trade one Lego block, slightly used. All you have to do is get it out.
1 comment:
Why do I feel like I'll read this in a book someday?? I certainly hope you get your dose of euphoria the next time!! Love & prayers! Betsy
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