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The one upside to surgery is the VIP treatment you get afterward. Suddenly, you're the star of the show, and everyone's bending over backward to make sure you're comfortable. I had people bringing me meals, fluffing my pillows, and treating me like I just won the Nobel Prize. "Oh, you had surgery? Here, let me fetch you some grapes and fan you with palm leaves." I felt like royalty, minus the crown and the ability to walk.
And let's talk about the sympathy cards. They're like Hallmark's way of saying, "Congratulations on surviving a traumatic event!" I got a card that said, "Sorry about your surgery, but at least you get to binge-watch Netflix guilt-free." That's the silver lining, folks—the guilt-free binge.
But the best part is milking it for all it's worth. Suddenly, I had a "Get Out of Responsibilities Free" card. "Sorry, can't do the dishes; I just had surgery." It's like having a golden ticket to a temporary vacation from adulting.
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Anesthesia is a wild ride, isn't it? One moment, you're counting backward, and the next, you're in a dreamlike state where everything is a fuzzy, surreal version of reality. It's like a vacation for your brain, but you don't get to choose the destination. I woke up from surgery feeling like I'd just come back from a trip to Narnia. The nurse asked, "Do you know where you are?" And I'm thinking, "Am I in a hospital or the set of a sci-fi movie?" I was half-expecting to see aliens and talking animals.
And then there's the confusion when you try to piece together what happened. "Wait, did I agree to a surgery or join a secret society?" It's a mystery wrapped in anesthesia-induced amnesia.
But the best part is the things you say when you're still under the influence. I asked the nurse if she believed in ghosts because I was convinced Casper was in the corner, judging my life choices. Anesthesia turns you into a philosopher with a touch of paranoia.
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Having surgery is like starring in your own reality show, right? You're the main character, lying there on the operating table, and there's a whole production crew in scrubs around you. They even have their own jargon, talking in code like they're secret agents. I overheard the surgeon saying, "Hand me the thingamajig." Thingamajig? That's a technical term now? I can imagine a chef doing the same thing in the kitchen. "Pass me the doohickey, we need to flambe the thingamabob."
And let's not forget the dramatic music they play as they wheel you into the operating room. It's like the soundtrack to a superhero movie. I half-expected Batman to swoop in and assist with the surgery. "Don't worry, folks, I'm here to remove the villainous appendix!"
But the best part is waking up afterward, feeling groggy and disoriented. It's like the season finale when they leave you with a cliffhanger. "Will the patient remember where they parked? Tune in next season for another thrilling episode of 'Recovery Room Chronicles!'
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You ever notice how when someone's about to have surgery, people suddenly become experts on the human body? It's like they've binge-watched every medical drama ever made. I had a friend who was going in for knee surgery, and suddenly everyone had a story. "Oh, I knew a guy who had knee surgery. He woke up with a British accent!" Really? Did the surgeon also perform an unexpected vocal cord transplant? It's surgery, not a trip to Hogwarts!
But the best part is the unsolicited advice. "Make sure to count backward from 100 when they give you the anesthesia." Yeah, because the surgeon needs a live rendition of "The Final Countdown" before he starts cutting. I tried it once; I got to 97, and then I just started naming pizza toppings.
And why do people feel the need to share horror stories? "Oh, my cousin's neighbor's ex-boyfriend had that surgery, and now he can taste colors." I just want to get through this without turning into a real-life episode of the Twilight Zone, thank you very much.
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