“Aren’t you going to give me a shot to knock me out before you cut me open? “No. Don’t need.” (2 minutes later) “need. need.” (repeat times 12) “It’s ok. 19 more to go.” the doctor says with the wry humour of a dead puppy. My eyes roll back as he makes the next incision and the knife introduces me to pain like a shot of Tabasco sauce to the back of the throat. I gasp, a little, and then make the mistake of looking down toward my pelvis to see my skin sliced open an inch deep. And then, darkness, black like the night. Only to wake up , perhaps a moment later, perhaps longer (?) with vision blurred …
