Me, on anesthesia . . .

I’m going into the doctor on Thursday to get an epidural injection in my lower back. It will be the third time I’ve had the procedure done. I’m not so worried about the side effects, but I do worry about the anesthesia. Maybe it’s because I don’t drink, but I get a little of that anesthesia stuff in my system and suddenly I’m acting like every version of the town drunk you’ve ever seen.

The last time I was in for the epidural I was laying on my stomach on the table while the doctor and assistant did all of that medical prep stuff.

Doctor to assistant: blah blah blah a bunch of boring medical talk
Assistant to doctor: Yes, doctor, blah blah blah
Me: Hey everybody the floor tile is moving! Is that wild, or what?
Dead silence behind me, then laughter.

That isn’t even the worst time though. You know how they tell you to count backwards from 100 when they put you completely out? Apparently once when the doctor asked me to do this, I decided somewhere in the 90’s to start singing Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall. (And yes, they did tell me about it afterwards.)

I’m sure that must have been really entertaining for the medical staff. Janette does karaoke in the operating room. It’s a good thing I didn’t get all the way through the song or next I would have probably belted out old Barry Manilow tunes.

Doctor: Nurse, are my scalpels sanitized?
Me: Her name was Lola, she was a show girl . . .

One just wonders what sort of thing I’ll say on Thursday. It’s a good thing I never put much stock in a dignified reputation anyway.