Last Friday, March 16, 2018, I went under the knife at the G.I. Lab of the Loma Linda University Medical Center. No, not really, I am simply exaggerating a bit. I just went under the gaze of a specialist through a colonoscope. While on our way to the hospital, my sidekick, Trent, asked me “what time is your endoscopy, Kuya?” I told him, “Trent, endoscopy is on the front end, mine is rear-end.” I guess that’s the best way to describe colonoscopy. Trent was supposed to drive my car back to the house once I get to the hospital but decided at the last minute to stay with me throughout the procedure so we parked our car at Building P3 and walked our way to the main building which is just adjacent to it.
I presented myself to the receptionist at the lobby. Her name is Regina and she and my wife are friends. Earlier that day, she was already informed by my wife that I am coming. As I was standing before her, she asked for my name and birthday while looking at the computer monitor. “Herbolingo!” I said, “H-E-R-B-O…” She looked at me and said, “So, you are…,” “Yes! I am…” She smiled and extended her hand to me. She completed the registration and handed me that gadget that beeps or vibrates when your turn is come.
A male orderly guided me and Trent to the second floor, brought me to a cubicle with a bed and I was given a hospital gown and a pair of non-slip socks and told me to undress. Trent put away all my personal belongings in a laundry bag and helped me put on the gown. As I laid down on the bed, the pre-op began. My left arm was inserted into a blood pressure cuff, several cold sensors were attached to my chest and back, a tiny clear plastic tube was attached at the end of my right middle finger to measure my body’s oxygen level. “Ninety-six percent!” somebody shouted.
A nurse was negotiating to find a vein on my left arm where she could poke a needle and create a small opening into my body for the medicines to flow through later. She was not successful. A second nurse came to help. They tried a second location, poked again. Still they could not find any willing vein. Finally, a third nurse came. She must be the best vein finder in their team because I can sense that she exuded confidence. Her confidence soon decimated. She had a hard time either. Then they moved to my right arm and tried several locations. Finally, they found one solitary vein in the middle of my inner arm, grabbed it, punctured it and attached the device that kept it open. After they left, my left arm was still sore and a little numb.
Another nurse put a mask on my face and told me to breathe deeply under the mask. That I did almost in cadence and what followed next was unforgettable. I can see several people looking down on me. Then gradually, my vision became darker and darker just like a computer monitor whose brightness was gradually adjusted to dark by turning a button. At the same time my hearing became fainter and fainter as if the people around me were getting farther and farther away. It was a battle between my consciousness and the anesthesia concoction that started seeping into my system. Time and again, human consciousness always gives way.
When I opened my eyes, the anesthesiologist who met with me two days earlier for a pre-anesthesia assessment was beside me smiling. “Hi Hermes, you remember me?” “Oh, yes, I remember you.” I said. He was that boyish looking doctor with a Chinese face. During our pre-anesthesia conference, I asked him, “Are you Chinese?” He said, “Yes, I am Chinese but my last name is Thai.” Feeling confident that my anesthesiologist was already there, I asked him, “So, when will the procedure start?” He smiled again and told me, “The procedure is finished. You were deeply sedated so you did not remember anything. Shortly, a nurse will hand to you a report. Read it so that you will know the result of the procedure.” Then he looked at the wall clock and said, “You’re good to go now.” The nurses started removing all the attachments to my body. “I’m glad, I am wireless again!” I told them. Everybody smiled.
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