Out for the count

I had to have a medical test this week, for which I had to be sedated. They probably gave me the same stuff associated with Michael Jackson.  I think it's called Diprivan.

At any rate, it's such a strange thing indeed to go under anesthesia, being at the mercy of others, unaware of what is being done to you, how long it's taking, or what people are saying.  And what I might be saying, I should add.  That was a particular fear I had going in.  I'd heard that people under anesthesia often talk in their sleep.  Can you imagine how embarrassing this could be?

"It's too friggin' cold in here!"

"Watch what you're doing with that instrument!"

"You better not be looking at my bum!"

I must admit I cannot remember much about my recent outpatient testing.  But I have this vague memory of being wheeled back into the recovery room and in it I see myself being combative, fighting off nurses/attendants who are either taking tubes out of me or disconnecting things from me, etc.  I have no idea what really happened; it's all just a blur.

I sure hope I didn't say anything weird or insulting.  It really bothers me that I can't remember what happened.  They say it's better that way, but I'm not so sure. 

I hope not, but it's possible that some unfortunate medical staffer might be sporting a black eye right now.