Musical Criticism in the Operating Room
The “little something to relax me” picked me up and dropped me off a cliff as I lay in the pre-op ward at the eye surgery center. Though other than that initial drop the sensation hadn’t been all that bad and I was now in a slow-moving, muffled space tapping my feet to the classic rock they were playing over the PA system. It must’ve been some song I didn’t like because despite my foot tapping I started complaining to the anesthesiologist about the musical selections. “You should get some good jazz, like Coltrane and mix it with some mellow psychedelic stuff in here. Pink Floyd comes to mind. Seriously.”
The anesthesiologist nodded and mumbled something to the nurse who took out a syringe and did the old pre-injection squirt and tap.
“Was it something I said?” I said.
“This will make you feel better. You ever see Lost in Space?”
“The movie or the TV series? I’ve seen both.”
The nurse laughed as she injected whatever it was into my IV.
“The TV series, the movie was pretty bad. Anyway, this is going to make you feel like Lost in Space.”
“Danger, danger Will Robinson” was my slurred and very witty reply as the room got even quieter. I never knew what the hell the second drug had to do with Lost in Space though. Must be some anesthesiologist humor.
After some time had passed (who knows how much?) I was wheeled into the room and as the cataracts were being carved from my eye “Little Wing” by Jimi Hendrix was playing over the PA. That’s better; I thought and hummed along as best I could given the drugs.
“You all right?” came the voice of the surgeon.
“Fine, just enjoying the music. Did I do something wrong?”
More laughter.
“You’re doing great” he said as a machine hummed and my eye pinched and diamonds exploded and shifted left to right and then water fell on the glass ceiling above my right eye. Then I felt someone grab my ankles.
“Sorry” I said. I had been foot tapping again. “That’s the kind of music you should have in all the rooms though. And some jazz too.” The nurse nodded and smiled the smile of a person who talked to stoned people all day. Jeez, I thought, that must get tedious after a while. Talking to drugged people. Then again they bothered me less this time, last go-round one of the nurses kept hectoring me about getting her daughter a job in TV.
They wheeled me into post op in a wheelchair, gave me instructions on how to medicate my eye and waited for a while until the drugs wore off a little more. The surgeon came in with a little flashlight to admire his handiwork. After that they sent me on my way. The driver who took me home had the all news station on. I guess they had warned him.
The anesthesiologist nodded and mumbled something to the nurse who took out a syringe and did the old pre-injection squirt and tap.
“Was it something I said?” I said.
“This will make you feel better. You ever see Lost in Space?”
“The movie or the TV series? I’ve seen both.”
The nurse laughed as she injected whatever it was into my IV.
“The TV series, the movie was pretty bad. Anyway, this is going to make you feel like Lost in Space.”
“Danger, danger Will Robinson” was my slurred and very witty reply as the room got even quieter. I never knew what the hell the second drug had to do with Lost in Space though. Must be some anesthesiologist humor.
After some time had passed (who knows how much?) I was wheeled into the room and as the cataracts were being carved from my eye “Little Wing” by Jimi Hendrix was playing over the PA. That’s better; I thought and hummed along as best I could given the drugs.
“You all right?” came the voice of the surgeon.
“Fine, just enjoying the music. Did I do something wrong?”
More laughter.
“You’re doing great” he said as a machine hummed and my eye pinched and diamonds exploded and shifted left to right and then water fell on the glass ceiling above my right eye. Then I felt someone grab my ankles.
“Sorry” I said. I had been foot tapping again. “That’s the kind of music you should have in all the rooms though. And some jazz too.” The nurse nodded and smiled the smile of a person who talked to stoned people all day. Jeez, I thought, that must get tedious after a while. Talking to drugged people. Then again they bothered me less this time, last go-round one of the nurses kept hectoring me about getting her daughter a job in TV.
They wheeled me into post op in a wheelchair, gave me instructions on how to medicate my eye and waited for a while until the drugs wore off a little more. The surgeon came in with a little flashlight to admire his handiwork. After that they sent me on my way. The driver who took me home had the all news station on. I guess they had warned him.
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