Green Jell-O

In an effort to figure out what the "black mass" is that was discovered on my lung a couple of years ago, I underwent a simple procedure called a 'Bronchoscopy' on Friday, that involved having a tube equipped with a camera and a couple other devices, shoved down my throat and into my airway and lungs.  I've underwent a similar procedure, the 'Gastroscopy', more than a dozen times due to choking and swallowing issues. It's a procedure that is normally performed with anesthesia, but I've been informed that I've built quite a reputation hospital-wide, as being the only one to get that procedure done while fully coherent.  I usually drive to the hospital when the obstruction occurs, so naturally I'm going to want to drive home.  I'd NEVER leave my truck overnight in THAT neighbourhood.

The bronchoscopy is a much more evasive procedure, I was led to believe.  It began, much like the gascoscopy, where I'm shuttled into a tiny little room, surrounded by more medical professionals with more credentials and job-titles than I can remember.  The doctor, a real hack because of her shitty attitude towards my case, hands me a shot glass filled with a red cherry-flavoured substance, designed to numb the inside of my mouth.  She instructs me to pour half in my mouth then gargle.  "Do you need us to show you how to gargle?" she added, as if I'm a complete imbecile, but apparently, I was informed, there's a lot of people who don't know how to gargle fluid.  F*ck sakes, how stupid are people becoming, that they don't know how to 'gargle'?  I swished the concoction around like a true gargling champion, if there was ever such a thing.  Another freezing agent was then sprayed into the back of my throat to numb that region up, the reason being that it'd relax the region enough to receive an injection from a syringe.  Before that was to happen, one of the nameless other medical professionals sidled up to the gurney that I sat upon with two syringes filled with a clear fluid.  "This is a little something to help you relax." she said, with a soothing tone.  I watched as she injected the specimens into my intravenous tube.

"Now we're talking!" I said, gleefully, laying back on the gurney.  Just then I noticed the spots in the suspended ceiling tiles begin to spin frantically, the image resembling one of those hypnotic spiral posters you see at the carnival.  "Wow," I said, "This stuff really acts qui-"

That's all I remember.

Years ago, I tore my left bicep "clean off the bone", as the surgeon told me, the following day, after my operation.  I was, obviously, anesthetized for that procedure as well, as you can probably imagine.  I don't know how well my body reacts to being under anesthetic, because I heard a story from a friend who claims that I shared a hospital room with her ailing grandfather, who was none too pleased with the wailing coming from my side of the room.  I can't speak as to the accuracy of this claim, but there's no reason to embellish the situation.  Plus, from what I do recall from the experience, was repeated visits from the nurse-on-call, who'd come in and pump me full of morphine.  I don't completely understand the concept of addiction, but being on morphine provided a good argument.  So when I began to come out of my induced coma after getting tubes, cameras and other devices shoved down my throat and into my lungs, the process was, as I recall, as loud as it was confusing.

All I can remember from yesterday morning, following the procedure, was a strong desire for Jell-O.  I remember begging and pleading with the nurses in the section to bring me some Jell-O.  "I know you have Jell-O," I called out, "I've had it here before."  They declined the request, but offered me something to drink, instead.  Coffee, tea, orange juice or apple juice, were the options.  "No!" I demanded, "Jell-O!  I'll even take the green jell-o that nobody likes.  I know you have it!  Please bring me some."

Nicole, the prettier and younger nurse of the gaggle, approached me and softly gave me the list of options, again.  I softly responded, "I find coffee is gross.  Tea makes me pee too much.  I'm allergic to citrus, so orange juice is out.  And apple juice, I find, tastes like the afore mentioned 'pee', but I'll take some of that green jell-o you gals are hiding."

I continued for the next twenty minutes or so, pushing the green jell-o agenda, but the girls wouldn't budge.  Finally, it came time where I was coherent enough to leave the hospital, so walking on rubbery legs, I left the small second floor day-surgery locale and met my ride who brought me home.

I never did get my jell-o, sadly.  What does strike me as odd, however, is: If everybody hates green jell-o, why does it continually get made?  I've never once, in all my visits to cafeterias where jell-o was offered, have I ever heard someone excitedly say, "Ooh, good!  Green jell-o."  Always, 'ew, there's only green jell-o left'.

The woozy affect of the anesthetic.