I had an operation last week ---- and I had to tell a story to get it.
When I checked in at the hospital all the doctors and nurses were smiling, happy and laughing – you know “getting the patient softened up and in the mood.”
Just after they took away my clothes and dressed me in a skimpy white cotton gown with funky blue flowers the anesthesiologist - already suited-up in a light blue scrub suit and hat- - popped in - - to say "hello" before he said "night night".
Quicker than I could get a proper hug and kiss from Jim, we were off down the hall for my big show. As we rolled into the operating room I sat up on the gurney and took stock of the theater. Then they slid me over onto the operating table - settling me under the glare of a huge round shield in the ceiling. I felt rather like a beached whale.
I recognized the anesthesiologist by his blue eyes. As he lifted my hand he said, “ So, you are a storyteller – how about telling me a story”
What? Wow! I wasn’t ready for this!
What story?
I quickly flipped through my mental story deck .
Ah, yes, An old joke - The Four Men in a Plane with Three Parachutes.”
On cue - under the lights – no lipstick - - not even wearing any underpants - I began to tell a story – to put myself to sleep.
I can’t remember if I made it to the punch line or not.
Several days later I knew I didn’t really care about that punch line - - -
I am happy with the ending to my story.
1 comment:
When our bodies let us down, it's really a shock, isn't it? Especially when we can't fix it ourselves and are completely dependent on others to do it. Thoughtful post.
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