Well… she’s back in pre-op now… Mom had an early start this morning. She had to shower using special soap before they even left the house, so 6:30am was her wake up call!! (She hasn’t been up that early intentionally since pre-collapse!) So special shower, almost 2 hour car ride, into the hospital… then you guys know how it goes… sit and wait!
We killed the time reminiscing… Last time we were sitting around waiting for surgery together was… 2007… and I was the one going in for special treatment. We’re in our little curtained area of the pre-op room… me, my mom, my dad. I’ve volunteered to have organs harvested because I’m 18 and bullet-proof but my poor parents are barely hanging onto their sanity. It’s clear they’re looking for an escape route, an emergency exit, a navy seal rescue, anything, really…
Instead, the anesthesiologist team comes in and calmly gives the standard schtick: “We’ll be giving you two kinds of drugs today … one is called “I-don’t-remember” and the other is called “I-don’t-care.” Meanwhile, they’re giving me a wee dose through the IV… and those drugs start kicking in…
Despite being dressed in only ridiculously oversized socks and a flimsy curtain and being covered in marker drawings, I begin to feel comfortably warm… a wee drowsy… and remarkably apathetic. Naturally, my dad and I had watched “Robin Williams – Live on Broadway” recently. And if you’re at all familiar with that clip… you totally know what’s coming here… (if not, I found it and included it below.)
A small part of my brain registers the change in my emotional state, and the Robin Williams bit comes roaring into my head:
“DAD! DAD! I KNOW WHAT THIS IS!” (I have zero inside voice capabilities left, apparently and I shout this entire thing across the pre-op floor.) “DAD! THIS IS FUCKITALL!”
I may have already had some “I-don’t-remember” blending into my system, but the look of complete, epic, white-faced horror on my mother’s face is burned into my memory F.O.R.E.V.E.R.
My dad stood there, slightly behind my mom, mouth slightly parted, barely breathing… as he tried desperately not to wet his pants. I’m positive the internal stress nearly ruptured organs.
After going bone white, mom then began to turn beet red in epic embarrassment.
Luckily, the docs/nurses had rushed back in at my outburst and calmed me down, getting me away from other people as quickly as possible so as not to upset any patients with weak constitutions in the vicinity. The very sweet anesthesiologist leaned over me and said with a knowing smile: “That’s exactly it! But here, we call it “La-ti-cuf” – it’s the prescription grade stuff.”
That’s the last thing I remember, and the last thing I processed.
Mom still blushes and laughs at the memory!
As she was taken back this morning, I wished her love, and a very pleasant Laticuf experience!