When I had hernia surgery last month, I was given anesthesia for the first time in my life.
The anesthesiologist told me she would give me something to “take the edge off” as I was being wheeled down to the OR, Then once in the OR, I’d be given propofol for sedation during the surgery.
I warned her that I am a violent sleeper and that she should keep an eye on me to make sure I didn’t move around during the operation.
She laughed and said, “You’re not going to feel a thing.”
Still I had concerns.
My wife used to complain that I’d occasional whip around so fast my elbow would fly out and crack her in the face in the middle of the night.
I also yell in my sleep and toss and turn.
I used to sleep walk as a child too.
What’s worse is that I curse and yell out from my dreams – often waking my wife (back in the day), myself (today) and my dogs (whenever).
Here’s how it went down:
The anesthesiologist came into the pre-op room and said, “I’m going to giving you something to relax you and then wheel you down.”
She wheeled me down the hall and said, “Do you feel anything yet?”
I said “No, and I can’t wait until it kicks in because I have a wicked headache.”
Then we were in the OR and someone said, “Steve, can you help us by sliding over onto the operating room table?”
I remember pushing my elbows and heels down onto the gurney and pushing myself over onto the table as someone said, “Perfect, thank you”.
The next thing I remember is a woman is smacking me on the shoulder saying “Steve, Steve, it’s time to wake up. It’s over. We’re taking you to recovery now.”
My eyes felt glued shut and all I wanted to do was sleep but I forced them open because I knew I wanted to get the hell out of there as soon as possible so I forced myself to wake up.
I felt kind of drunk, kind of hungover, groggy and out of it. Plus, I had throbbing burning pain (steady but not severe) in my abdomen from the surgery.
I remember nothing from the time I pushed my heels into the gurney to when I was being woken up on the way to post-op recovery.
Nothing.
No dreams.
No nightmares.
No pain.
No headache.
No feverish symptoms.
No fragments of memory.
Nada.
The surgery, which was around 30 minutes, is missing from my consciousness. It’s as if that time was cut out of my life (along with my hernia haha).
So that, I suspect, is what death is. A cessation of everything.
No pain. No pleasure. No nothing.
Not bad.