Drunlsweet

Yesterday morning, I had a PROCEDURE done.

A medical PROCEDURE.

The doctor came in to talk to me, asked what the problem is, and I told him. He asked, “do you drink?”

I said, “Not really.”

He said, “Why not?”

And I thought that was odd. I mean, I do have a drink now and then, but every time I answer that question, it’s always framed in terms of how many drinks you have in a week. I don’t drink alcohol for months at a time. Or if I do, it’s a couple of drinks once a month. I don’t like alcohol. Sadly, I love the taste of cherry bourbon rye mixed with cola. I wish it wasn’t alcoholic. In fact, I love the taste of grenadine and cola just as much.

Anyway, I thought it was weird that the doctor would ask why I *don’t* drink.

Here’s the thing. For this medical PROCEDURE, they sprayed stuff on the back of my throat to freeze it. The stuff tasted so horrible I nearly gagged. In fact, I asked if it was WD-40. They tell me it wasn’t. I’m not sure I believe them.

They shoved a tube with wings in my mouth and affixed it to my head with an elastic band. Then they gave me a “sedative”. (Now, I don’t know how many “sedatives” you’ve had. I can count on one hand the number I’ve had. This one was, by far, the most effective.) Then they did a bunch of stuff I don’t remember. They could have dressed up like aliens and anally probed me for all I know. They could have asked me to line dance. They could have had a tea party on my bare belly.

Because these are TRAINED MEDICAL PROFESSIONALS, I highly doubt they did any of those things. I remember hearing their voices, but I don’t remember what they said. I remember my tongue feeling thick, and thinking “man. I’m stoned”, and then I remember *making the decision* to go to sleep. Then I remember more voices.

Someone put my glasses on my face. Someone gave me my phone. Apparently, I was quite coherent when I asked for my phone. I was not, however, coherent for the first several minutes of what I did with my phone. If you’re on Twitter, you saw this:

I’m high and my loos rad numb. Um, I’m high and my lips are. Numb. IM ALIVE!!!

Then you saw a photograph of my massive cleavage. (I have since removed the photograph.) Mostly, this photograph was due to Ms.Crisis replying to that Tweet with: “YAY! Now show us your boobies!” This means that either I oughtn’t have my phone when stoned out of my nut on  benzodiazepine derivatives, or Ms.Crisis oughn’t give me advice she knows I’d follow with only slightly more restraint were I in my right mind.

But this isn’t the best bit. The best bit are the texts I sent before I was fully in control of my faculties. I will begin with one I sent my co-workers:

What I said to my co-workers while sedated
I love where I work.

I *think* I was trying to say “I need to get some of this shit”, but clearly, my thumbs weren’t working owing to the fact that I was heavily sedated. Muscle relaxant, you know. Following advising my co-worker and my boss that I was A-OK and in tiptop shape and could probably return to work immediately, I reassured my friend Tall Dude that I had, in fact, pulled through THE PROCEDURE without dying:

My friends put up with a lot of crap from me.

To be honest, I totally texted His Nibs before I sent anything to anyone else. But my texts with him are my favourites, so I’ve left them ’til last. Because this is what I said to my patient and loving husband. I think I told him at least three times that I would be an hour:

I mean somber. (I didn’t mean somber. Even my autocorrect was high.)
I can’t even begin to explain how much I love this man. I remember none of this conversation.
What, the part where my body is completely stoned but I’m still able to text? THAT’S a useful skill to have.
I don’t think I was supposed to do that to the machine that says PING!, but it was annoying me.
Swallowing your own spit is a new milestone. Me and 3-month-olds.
Yes. My conversations are always this graceful.

The very best part of this experience was riding in the vehicle after His Nibs came to fetch me, and going over the texts I didn’t remember sending. That was one of the funniest ten minutes of my LIFE.

cenobyte
cenobyte is a writer, editor, blogger, and super genius from Saskatchewan, Canada.

6 Comments

  1. When I got out of surgery after christmas, I was shaking pretty violently. I don’t do general anesthetic well. So, the nurses decided to get some warm blankets and completely encased my arms in them. They were the flannel ones so my arms felt like they were in casts. I looked at Mr Stress and moved my arms up and down and declared “Robot Warm Arms”. He just about died laughing.

  2. K, 3 things. 1) I’m glad you survived the PROCEDURE. 2) I’m now a fan of MsCrisis. and 3) Well, since you’re now in your right mind, there is the matter of a photo….

i make squee noises when you tell me stuff.

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