milk of amnesia
Who thinks up the names of drugs anyway? Tomorrow I will get some propofol aka milk of amnesia, when I get my ear drum repaired. My eardrum keeps exploding on me - this being the second time in two years. Okay so maybe the correct term is "rupture" and it really isn't a big deal in the general scheme of things. It isn't cancer or Lou Gehrig's disease.
I don't know why I can't live my life with a hole in my eardrum, but the doc says something about infections seeping into my brain, hearing loss, etc. So...once again I will go have them slice a chunk of the part of my ear called the tragus and glue it to my tattered eardrum, in hopes that it will grow into place and close the hole until I get another cold, and sneeze it out of place. I am lucky to only get a cold every two years. Anyway, general anesthesia is required because if you move when they are fixing it, they will poke a hole in your brain and your brain will leak out. Or something like that.
Before they slice the piece of skin from my tragus, they will inject me with a milky drug called propofol. For one brief, shining moment, as I lay there at their mercy, the walls will waver a bit, and the next thing I know the nurse in recovery will be saying "Are you ready to go home yet? Drink this. Put your clothes on". Another patient probably is waiting.
I think surgery might be the closest to death you can get without actually dying. There you are, with one person controlling your breathing, while the other one hopefully fixes the correct ear. Who knows what they talk about while they are working? Are they making fun of parts of me? Or are they admiring my low pulse rate? The only good thing is the propofol and then spending the rest of the day in a drug induced haze of which I haven't seen the likes of since my wild college days.
But still, I don't like to be so close to death.
I don't know why I can't live my life with a hole in my eardrum, but the doc says something about infections seeping into my brain, hearing loss, etc. So...once again I will go have them slice a chunk of the part of my ear called the tragus and glue it to my tattered eardrum, in hopes that it will grow into place and close the hole until I get another cold, and sneeze it out of place. I am lucky to only get a cold every two years. Anyway, general anesthesia is required because if you move when they are fixing it, they will poke a hole in your brain and your brain will leak out. Or something like that.
Before they slice the piece of skin from my tragus, they will inject me with a milky drug called propofol. For one brief, shining moment, as I lay there at their mercy, the walls will waver a bit, and the next thing I know the nurse in recovery will be saying "Are you ready to go home yet? Drink this. Put your clothes on". Another patient probably is waiting.
I think surgery might be the closest to death you can get without actually dying. There you are, with one person controlling your breathing, while the other one hopefully fixes the correct ear. Who knows what they talk about while they are working? Are they making fun of parts of me? Or are they admiring my low pulse rate? The only good thing is the propofol and then spending the rest of the day in a drug induced haze of which I haven't seen the likes of since my wild college days.
But still, I don't like to be so close to death.
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