Peacekeepers Among Us

My mind drifted to a point eight weeks earlier....
“It’s going to be like a controlled death,” the surgical resident said offhandedly as she helped the orderly steer the gurney into the hallway. Lying supine on the gurney, I could see only the resident’s face and the ceiling tiles above as she uttered her pronouncement. I hope her performance in pharmacology exceeds her social skills, I thought. Surprisingly, the ceiling titles had more compassion than the resident. They displayed positive messages, things like “you’re in good hands” and “relax and be well.” As the gurney bounced along, the words became blurry—likely the result of the sedative that the anesthesiologist injected into my IV while jokingly asking if I wanted a margarita. Of course, I nodded yes.
We turned a couple of corners, and then the orderly stopped, smiled at my wife Carrie, who had been walking alongside and holding my hand, and said, “Time for goodbye kisses.”
Carrie bent over and kissed me gently on the lips, squeezed my hand, and whispered, “See you in a few hours, sweetheart.” In a moment, I felt the gurney move again through the double doors marked Surgery.
Fighting the effect of the sedative, I struggled to keep my eyes open. The cold, sterile, surgical suite appeared blurry and surreal. Stainless steel tables and humming machines filled the room. In the center, a narrow table with huge overhead lights caught my attention—that was where it would all happen, I assumed. The busy staff seemed to be floating among the various machines; their voices bouncing off the walls sounded like an echo in a hollow cave. Several staff members expertly transferred me to the narrow operating table and someone proceeded to strap my arms down. Is this what it’s like to be positioned for execution? I wondered. Before I could contemplate further, a mask covered my face, flooding my nostrils with welcomed fresh oxygen-enriched air. Everyone around me was engaged in conversation, but no one was talking to me until the anesthesiologist said, “I’m going to give you something to make you sleep.” As if I wasn’t already sleepy. She promptly pushed a syringe full of white liquid into my IV that the anesthesia resident had inserted earlier. I felt a prickly feeling in my arm then my head. My memory went blank before the dreams came: Flowing garden, smelling the brightly colored daisies, then darkness, I guess. That was the last thing I remembered that day.