I’ve had three operations in my adult life, all of them involving general anesthesia, which I find terrifying. I’m someone who doesn’t fall asleep easily, and once I do, I don’t sleep very soundly, so to lose consciousness in so complete a way is like losing time. It’s what I imagine dying might be like, under the best of circumstances, I suppose.
In all three of those instances, I have felt like a helpless child (again, one could imagine death in this way) – afraid, alone and at the mercy of the team of professionals who are given the task of treating me. And in all three of those instances, first in 2004, then in 2006, and just last Thursday, I came out of the deep, death-like sleep of anesthesia to see the face of Jeanette Reyes, my partner. Her fingers have soothed me out of the confusion with their familiar touch. Jeanette’s hand has been the one to extend the straw to my lips so that I could take that first restorative sip of cool water, inviting me back to the world of the living.
Though these words may embarrass you, Jenny, I want to thank you. Thank you for always being there to light up the darkness.
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