Anesthesia

I totally understand why Michael Jackson had a doctor who he regularly had come in to his home and put him under.
I mean who would not love to be able to be completely unaware of life for a few hours every now and again.
Precisely how I felt today for the better part of forty five minutes.
One minute I was going on and on to this really great nurse Bernadette about how I was married to the greatest man alive. And the next minute I was out. Gone. All the while having a long probe stuck up my butt.
Ain't life grand?
Is it not just the coolest thing ever that we can literally be removed from our bodies and our lives and have medical procedures that should cause all kinds of pain? And we don't know or feel a thing. I think it's a medical marvel.
But I do have to wonder about some of the stories those nurses must hear right as they push the button to inject the sleepy drug.
The last thing I remember today, aside from my rant about Evan being the greatest husband ever, was when the nurse commented on how she loved my dimples and she always wanted dimples. Who knows what I said after that.
But I imagine that nurse probably tweets or blogs under a pseudoname. And she probably has some really great stories she shares with the general public.
Just as long as she doesn't share anything about my backside, we are good!