“How do you feel? Like you had a bit to drink, right? How’s the pressure?â€? the surgical assistant asked.
“It’s fine,â€? I managed. I was breathing calmly, and my heavy limbs felt half numb on the operating table. Pity the ceiling was so dull, although it struck me eerily that this may be my last outlook on life. Well, I didn’t really expect to die having my wisdom teeth pulled, but I imagined that decades later my deathbed would have the same view. Shivers ran through my mind, and they would have run through my spine too, if my body was more engaged.
I wondered how much oxygen had been cutoff to my brain. That’s what makes you relax and go loopy when drinking, right? And this was just the appetizer; the IV was on its way. Does that zap oxygen from your brain too? How long could my brain go without oxygen? Why didn’t I ask these questions earlier? My mind was struck with shivers again, and I was torn between frantically calling the assistant and quietly going under for the surgery.