Anesthesia and Me
Greetings, friends!
I hope everyone’s well and enjoying the days.
Lemme get straight to the point. Every three years, I get an endoscopy done. It's a necessary routine, thanks to acid reflux that has gnawed away at the lining of my esophagus. Most people would dread the procedure, but I secretly look forward to it. Why? It’s the only time I get truly restful sleep.
As soon as the anesthesiologist administers the general anesthesia, I’m transported into a rare and blissful oblivion. Over the years, I’ve even attempted to bribe the anesthesiologist into administering the stuff recreationally—not at a party or anything, just in a quiet hotel room where I could sleep without interruptions for at least an hour.
The last anesthesiologist, a devout Muslim woman, politely declined my offer. She explained that being alone in a hotel room with a strange man was inappropriate for her, religiously speaking. But even if that weren't an issue, her professional integrity wouldn’t allow it. And even if she had been tempted, the money I offered her—generous by my standards—was apparently less than what a part-time In-N-Out Burger employee makes in a day.
But this post isn’t about my anesthesiologist. It’s not even about my sleep. It’s about what happens after I wake up.
Post-anesthesia, my mind is eerily clear. The haze of daily distractions lifts, and I see the world with a sharpness I rarely experience otherwise. I notice things. Take last Friday, for example, after my latest endoscopy.
There he was: a wannabe Batman perched on a rooftop (see above), clutching a briefcase full of personal items. He was staging a protest against Trump’s cabinet picks—an act of bizarrely specific defiance. Would I have noticed him on any other day? Absolutely not. But post-anesthesia, the world comes into focus in strange and unexpected ways.
Instead of waiting for someone to pick me up as planned, I walked home. Over an hour, through streets I usually ignore. It’s an odd kind of walk, half dream and half memory. Sometimes I see things that aren’t there: a flash of light that could be a long-lost friend stepping out of a doorway, or an impossibly green lawn that I remember from childhood summers. Other times, I’m walking through places I wish I could go back to—places that don’t exist anymore, except in the folds of my mind.
It’s an intense mishmash of visions, dreams, and wistfulness. And guilt—there’s always a little guilt lurking in these walks, for people I’ve lost touch with, for paths I didn’t take, for the way time insists on moving forward when sometimes, I just want to stand still.
By the time I get home, the clarity fades. The sidewalk becomes just a sidewalk again, the faces blur back into anonymity, and the rooftops are empty of superheroes. But for a little while, it feels like I’ve glimpsed something extraordinary, even if I can’t hold onto it.
If I could book endoscopies just for fun—skip the procedure, keep the anesthesia, and let my esophagus and my imagination take turns healing, I’d be in heaven.
Our relationship to the sacred: Celebrated Canadian anthropologist Wade Davis talks about his new book Beneath the Surface of Things with Broadview magazine.
Thanks to
, I discovered the music of Peter Green, the songwriter of Black Magic Woman and many other blues-inspired songs. The legendary guitarist and founder of Fleetwood Mac, he’s known for a warm tone, economy, subtlety, and beautifully melodic phrasing.I have yet to see Anora, the award-winning film by Sean Baker, but over the weekend, I checked out Tangerine (available on multiple streaming platforms, including Netflix), his earlier feature shot on two iPhone 5s. While shooting a feature-length film on a mobile phone is impressive, what impressed me most were the chaotic, colorful world of his characters and its themes — friendship, loyalty, and the human struggle for dignity and connection without judgment or condescension.
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’Til next time.
ak
I really like the Bar Harbour image. So serene and beautiful. Unfortunately for me, post-anaesthesia I usually feel very nauseous and just want to vomit.
I like your imagination Alex! Had to read your post at one go!