Routine Orthopedic Morning

Before dawn decided to make its appearance defining the new day filled with glorious hopeful rays a uniformed lady dressed in white entered my rented room. “Good morning,” she expressed to me with an honest tone.

I did not say a word only watched with great intent as the hospital employee wore a name tag displaying the title ‘Registered Nurse’ prepared equipment for a task that was supposed to be performed. “This is going to hurt,” she was very upfront, “but only for a few seconds, then you can go back to dream land.”

Despite still being in my youth I took the whole professional exercise like a man as the foreign substance was injected into my leg. Numbness soon developed as the health care worker left the setting needing to address another duty on the agenda.

Sun outside started to rise, and despite my sedated state I was coherent to witness a group take control making sure the metal protectors were securely locked ready for travel. Unlatching the wheels below they started to move my bed down the hallway stopping only to press the elevator button.

As the gigantic lift opened the entourage dressed in Operating Room scrubs made sure I was fine during this journey that did not have time to stop by a news stand or coffee truck.

Reaching the next floor, only a few feet away from where surgeries were the main event my doctor greeted me with a peaceful smile. Once again, the traditional morning dialogue took place in the same manner two business individuals would exchange cordial conversation boarding the commuter train. Suddenly, bright spotlights gleamed despite being a handful of subway stops from Broadway screaming, “let’s get on with the show.”

“Ready to go to work and get the job done,” I thought to myself remembering the day before the same attitude was used when finishing all the school assignments that needed to be accomplished.

It was then a young lady dressed in the proper attire for the occasion including the surgical covering removing the New York fashionable photogenic image placed a black mask filled with anesthesia over my mouth. “Count back from ten.” She requested like my teacher would standing next to the arithmetic chalkboard.

“Ten, nine, eight,” she heard me speak until I abandoned the mathematical quiz only to fall into darkness.

Within a second that the traditional clock counted as a few hours my eyes slowly open only to see soothing kindness staring down at me like a flight attendant making sure I enjoyed the trip.

Having the quick thought of jumping out of bed derailed by a body cast I decided to surrender extending the slumber ritual.

It was not until a few days later that I find my conscious fully back and once again the windows to the world presented a postcard view to the city that proclaimed it never slept. Monday’s newspaper sports headlines were next to my bed stating Athletics Performed Orthopedic Surgery Over the Pinstripers.

While a talk show host on television walked up and down an aisle debating an interesting topic to the masses intellectual academics wearing their white coats convened in my private area to announce that the operation was a success. So much for the weekend that started on Friday the 13th.