Did you nearly fall asleep during your evening shower this week?
Subscribe now for unlimited access.
$0/
(min cost $0)
or signup to continue reading
I did. It was for the briefest moment, after I shut my eyes and the hot water hit the sweet spot between my shoulders.
Before I could say “Holy hot water bliss, catwoman” I roused myself back to reality.
And what a stark reality it was when I looked into the mirror and looking back was Krusty the Clown. My hair was like Krusty-meets-Marge Simpson - out of control.
It had been three long days. It was Wednesday.
Monday: When you get to a certain age you become familiar with a range of medical procedures that put any semblance of youth firmly out of range. Invincibility and youthful super powers are snuffed out.
Sort of like the NBN, our days of promise, performance and speed become the stuff of dreams.
And dream-like I was on Monday, until the drugs wore off.
To say the procedure from 11am was faster than a trip to the supermarket would not be an understatement.
It was awesomely efficient.
And the anaesthetic? Ten years ago, under different circumstances I woke from an anaesthetic feeling like a rebooted version of Rip van Winkel. It was the best sleep I’d had for 20 years. No side effects and tasty mixed sandwiches to follow.
When you get to a certain age you become familiar with a range of medical procedures that put any semblance of youth firmly out of range.
On Monday it was pleasantly weird and equally refreshing.
Why was the nurse putting my pants on?
Did I imagine her telling me I had beautiful eyes?
Did I imagine me telling her that I missed our big, chaotic house, even after three years of modern double glazing in our townhouse?
Did I start to tear up?
Did she reassure me I wasn’t the only one who gets anxious?
Did the anaesthetist really tell me I was in good health?
“Have I already HAD the procedure?”
Apparently, yes. I was in recovery.
I could walk. I could talk, and husband was with me for some good news and to drive me home.
It was 11.40am. WTF? 40 minutes? I’ve waited longer for coffee.
Tuesday: I became aware that I may or may not have been gently anaesthetised off my face on Monday. Stoned. Wasted. High. Sedated. Who knows what it was, but it was damn fine.
I knew it was damn fine because I woke on Tuesday feeling like I’d been hit by a road train. I slept the good sleep of an ageing hippy MOST OF THE DAY.
Wednesday 7.30am I was so refreshed I washed the car BEFORE I went to work. Note, this took place at my local car wash, not with a hose, buckets and chamois. BUT it was clean and set the tone for the day.
In fact I overachieved all of Wednesday.
100 emails – no problemo.
Four events in two weeks? Heck yeah. Set myself a list of tasks which I completed the same day.
I even had a healthy lunch.
A number of tasks on my too hard list were resolved, without bloodshed and finally, after four months, even the scaffolding was removed from our place.
Monday’s anaesthetic had given my mind a mini-break.
By Wednesday evening’s shower I was happily exhausted.
