See you later, Ms. Bravado!

The dictionary meaning of ‘bravado’ is ‘a pretentious, swaggering display of courage’.

This is the word Dailytoe used on me today when she analyzed why I was so ‘kok’ the past week (yes, she said ‘kok’ or maybe she meant ‘cock’?)

Thinking back, perhaps that is really what it is - Sheer bravado. Was it false? I really don’t know. The other words I would have used are ‘indifferent’ or ‘denial’. Maybe even ‘not scared die’.

My bravado didn’t hold up the whole way though. When I climbed onto the wheeler bed, I was still smiling and waving goodbye. When they put a shower cap on me, I asked the nurse whether I looked silly. When they stopped at a waiting room, I actually fell asleep. But when they finally wheeled me past the sign that says ‘Operation Room’, my heart fell hard. It is hard to be pretentious when you are face-to-face with the real deal; my bravado fizzled out the moment I saw the operating theatre table.

Yes, it looks exactly like the set in ER. Every details down to the surgical lights and green gown. And no, they didn’t play classical music – yet.

I think it is in their employment contracts that they have to be VERY nice to all patients on the surgical bed because it could well be their very last moment on earth. In fact one of the nurse even commented that I look familiar, like she has seen me on TV (yes, I actually felt quite good when she said that even though I know she is lying).

“Miss Frou, do you know why you are here for?” asked the anesthetician.

I had a very clever answer for him (on the 7 deadly sins of men) but I didn’t think he will appreciate lame wit at a time like this.

“Yes, I do.” I answered. “You need to make an incision from beneath my throat to insert a scope to my chest.”

“Good. Then you understand that I will need to put you down for an hour.” With that, he pulls out a needle.

Seriously, this is like the one millionth needle I have seen the past week. I am totally nonchalent by now. Needles & I have become truly BFF (sorry Dailytoe, they took your place).

When they are sedating a patient, they usually have to keep talking to them to test their consciousness. That was what my anesthetician tried to do. He asked me about my job (though I didn’t think it was appropriate at that time because I left a lot of work undone) and whether I like it. The last sentence I remember saying is, “Luff it berri mooch…..”

When I came to, I didn’t love it at all. My state of being that is, not my job. When I started throwing up last night’s dinner (bearing in mind that it is a good 18 hours later), I wanted to bury my head in the plastic bag and just die.

The Boy scolded me when I regained full consciousness. He said I shouldn’t have said ‘Goodbye’ on the wheeler bed. The right parting words should be “See you later.”

I bet he learnt that from Channel 8 drama series