We are all Mortal -Some more than others

We are all mortal. There are times when personal situations make us even mortaler. It must have been a half score years ago when I took my couch potato frame and attempted some now deliberately forgotten Olympic feat. Needless to say, pain ensued. The source of the pain was my left knee. Medical consultation recommended surgery. I was reassured that this was a simple procedure --- Arthroscopic surgery. They were just going to have a little peek inside to assess the best course of action. Any nip and tuck could be done through the smallest of breaches into my inner body.
Therein laid the problem. They could have split my chest open with a chain saw, removed my organs, juggled with them and then haphazardly thrown them back in to the gapping cavity. They could have removed my entire cranium, gently folding my face and scalp down around my neck, beat my exposed brain with a tennis racket until I smelled an entire buffet of burnt toast and then replaced the bone and sewn me back up pretty as a parcel. In either case, I knew that I would be alright because such is the marvels of modern medicine. The procedure that I was to undertake was so minor, so undeserving of attention and the fact that life had a habit of beating me with its fists of irony – it was obvious that I was going to die!!
My execution day soon arrived and I found myself lying on death row. I had only a hour left to live and I could not confess my fears to anyone in case someone would think I was fearful. A nurse came to explain the procedure. Not too bad I thought to myself. Then she said “I must tell you that some people react to the anesthetic.” I then did the impossible. While lying flat on my back --- I fainted. This seemed to cause a little stir in the ward. They soon established that my blackout was due to pusilanimity (a word not even in my vocabulary) and that I was healthy enough to undergo the knife . I was given the smallest of pills to put under my tongue. “Cyanide?”, I half jokingly inquired. The other half of me seemed relieved at the thought of being put out of my misery. “No, it is a tranquilizer” the nurse replied.
That one little pill put me in the grandest of moods. I was now having fun. They taped me down in a horizontal crucifixion position and whisked me off to the operating room. Wheeeeee!!
What fun we had there! Chatting. Laughing. I was on top of my game. I was so clever and witty. What a ball!! It ended all too soon and the convalescing began.
Within a year, I found myself repeating the whole adventure after another failed Olympian feat. I swear I was in the same bed, and though it was much more muted, the same fears were plaguing me. The nurse approached me and reading from a sheet said “Yes, here is your tranquilizer” I was able to infer that on the sheet there must have been a large bold check mark beside “gutless mega-weeny-wimp”. I took no umbrage and gladly partook of the offering. What fun we were going to have today!! I was live!! Bring on the show!!
I don’t know what other dire warnings were on that sheet of paper but I had barely entered the OR where the good time would roll, and the world went black.
Looking back it was odd that the anesthetist would have dove across the room to stab his needle into my carotid. Impressive aim. Portocol should have suggested that I would have first been hooked up to monitor my vitals. No doubt the immediacy of relieving my fears must have taken priority.
What caring practitioners!!