Junkyard

I & Dad were sitting in the waiting room.
It was just 5 minutes before the surgery.
Dad assured me that it won't give any pain (after all the doctor had mentioned that he would give local anesthesia)

Alas! I was admitted in. : P
A nurse asked me to lie on the bed.
A variety of electronic devices were situated beside me.
I was made to roll over and face those devices. (Frankly, it’s no treat to watch them because they remind you of any classic Hindi movie…where some heart patient’s heart beats are shown!)

So, I lay there for some time.
I sensed that my cell phone was still in my pocket.
I thought I should have kept it outside the room.
A nurse and a ward boy were discussing with each other that:
In such surgeries all they do is cut and pull and stitch. (That’s ‘exactly’ not the words one would like to hear, seconds before surgery!)
I wished they would somehow shut up!
Then, he said something sensible – “Let’s switch on the radio.”
And it was hard to believe, but the whole operation was performed with Radio Mirchi as ‘background music’.

The radio played: “Goli maar bheje mein..!” : (
And that’s when I felt, “O What a GREAT Song!”

The surgeon entered, and I was distracted from the radio because of the clanking sound of knives and scissors. : P
The surgeon re-assured me that, “It won’t hurt.”
He gave anesthesia and left the room.
And the radio played, “Nagada….Nagada….”
What the heck!

I strained my ears to listen to something else. But failed at it.
The doctor re-appeared looking, a bit more, what can I say, Confident? : P
And then it finally began.
I suppose, the local anesthesia had worked. The portion went numb.
I couldn’t feel anything.

And the radio played, “Haule Haule…”
I love that song. But, it’s funny how the RJs play exactly the wrong songs @ the wrong times. I wanted to get out of the room as quickly as possible!
But it continued, “Haule Haule!”  : (

Everything went well.
(Well, it had to! Or how else would I be typing here right after coming back home.)
I could feel that he was putting the last stitches.

Later on, when I was leaving the room, the radio shouted, “Chak de…Chak de India!”
And I grinned : O

Mom’s worried face became visible. And I felt relived.
Dad said that the surgeon was appreciating that I didn’t scream during those injections or cuts! So brave of me! : P

All’s well that ends well.
But, I want to wish that this would be my first & last surgery ever!