"Whatever you do, you have to get a Döner Kebab. Have to." "Is there a special store that sells them?"
"They're usually sold at a little stand or in shops all over town. You can't miss them. You're going to love being on base in Germany. It's such a great area. Oh, try the kebab with and without the special spicy sauce. I prefer it without."
"Steffanie, I need you to answer a few questions for me. What's your date of birth?"
"Great. What are you here for today?"
I took a deep breath and, with what strength I had left in me, I whispered in a barely audible tone, "Brain Surgery."
My now favorite anesthesiologist turned away from my bed then and started messing with one of my three IVs. I refused to look at what he was doing. I feared another breakdown. I had already scared everyone enough with my sudden crying outbursts during surgery prep; it was the second time I ever saw my father cry. Thinking about food made me hungry so I just kept looking around the rather archaic operating room for my surgeon - a sign of comfort. The room did not look anything like what I had googled. The avocado green titles looked dingy and there wasn't any plastic that image search told me they put up for delicate surgeries. In the bluster of getting everything ready, different people, who never introduced themselves, kept entering and exiting the operating room. They would quietly tend to their duties without coming near me. I guess they were nurses? What exactly were they doing? Why were so many people here? Where was my surgeon? Why were you inputting things on a PC and not a Mac? My worry inducing thoughts were irrupted just before another panic attack set in.
"You're going to start to feel something, ok?"
"I'm starting to feel lightheaded...it feels good."
My main anesthesiologist came back into the OR; prepped for surgery with his scrubs, "Who's your friend?"
"Sir Bertie Toughington the III, my friend Allison gave him to me because my husband won't let me have a dog. Oh, try to find a bratwurst cart..."