Oh My Gynecologist, You Hardly Knew Me

Coming out of anesthesia after my appendectomy reminded me of another time that I had surgery about eleven years ago for a lady-issue. 

The surgery was a last-ditch effort to try and fix something my Gynecologist and I had been working on for several years. We tried a lot of things and as a result I felt like I was in his office every four months. He was 163 years old but I liked him because he saw my tennis shoes in an early visit and we ended up bonding because he was a long-time runner and we used to chat about training and stuff. You know I think I even referred to him in casual conversation as "My Gynecologist", indicating our close relationship like somebody might refer to someone as their "Attorney" while going through a divorce.

When he realized that none of the medications or treatments were working ("you're an anomaly", he said) he suggested surgery and I guess I was willing to try anything. So I went and I had it and it wasn't any big deal, it was outpatient but they did have to put me under a little bit of anesthesia. As I was waking up and being moved from surgery to recovery, a nurse noticed that my paper underwear had slipped down, revealing my butt-crack. She tried to pull them up and I slapped her hand away. "No! That's my J.Lo look!" I said groggily, in a typical bid to make hospital employees laugh. I said some other hilarious things, obviously, and then went to recovery, which was a big room with curtains separating a bunch of beds.

I was awake enough to hear the conversation going on in the bed next to me, where my best friend the Gynecologist, a man with whom I had been INTIMATELY acquainted for a very long time, was saying, "I heard you were quite the comedian after surgery."

I don't know, maybe he didn't recognize me by my face?