Gail checks
in and within minutes, we are whisked away to a small curtained off room. Three different sets of nurses come by to ask
the exact same set of questions. They do
this as a precaution to insure they get the right patient. This proves to be a good idea since they
mistake the dark-haired-Spanish-speaking woman in the cubicle next to Gail for
Gail (who is tall, blond, and Nordic-looking).
Gail is taken
off to surgery, and I go downstairs to get something to eat. While she is enjoying the benefits of
conscious sedation, I am paralyzed by the calories next to each bakery item at
Au Bon Pain. Everything I want is
440-660 calories. As I am developing a
rationale for why a 660-calorie croissant filled with raspberry may be okay, I
spot a plain croissant listed at 180 calories.
I don’t know why a little jam would be 480 calories, but I don’t want to
question it either. I imagine one of the
workers saying, “Oh gosh (though of course they’d never say oh gosh), that
croissant is mis-marked; it should be 500 calories.” And then what would I do? A woman near me senses my anxiety, and apropos
of nothing says, “Eat what you want.
You’re probably stressed enough just being here.” I heed her advice and buy the plain
croissant.
I‘m barely through
two papers when I get a call that Gail is ready. I go upstairs to meet her. Her hair looks
great, her skin is glowing, and she looks well rested. The last time Gail was
consciously sedated, she came out of it all happy and giddy and repeating the words,
“Whee. Whee.” This time she only smiles, but a smile is
good enough.
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