There was this "breathing tube" (and I use the term loosely) shoved down my throat and two beefy nurses on my chest, shouting, "Oh no you don't." 

 

The anesthesia apparently made me forget why I was in post op, but one thing I did know was I had just given a billion dollar bearer bond to Lindsey Lohan and whoever gave it to me was bound to want it back. 

 

I tried to get this idea across to my nurses with what I hoped looked like worried expressions and by attempting to write in the air with my finger. 

 

"Maybe we should get him up," the cute nurse said. 

 

"He won't wakeup until 10:00 a.m." 

 

"He's trying to talk to us," the less dogmatic nurse said, giving my arm some slack. 

 

"His chart says 10:00 a.m.," her colleague insisted. 

 

The good nurse gave me a pencil and paper.  My first scrawl wasn't even a scribble, but it did prove one thing.  Those were some really good drugs they had me on.  For my second attempt I  v-e-r-y   s-l-o-w-l-y  wrote, "$1,000,000,000."  

 

"He's offering one billion dollars if we let him up now." 

 

While the nurses were distracted, I found enough slack to reach up and pull the breathing tube partially out of my throat to where I could actually breath. 

 

"Let's at least take the tube out," the good nurse said.  Realizing I'd be in trouble when she learned I'd been messing with the tube, I tried to swallow it again, managing instead to get it lodged sideways in my throat. 

 

I couldn't fish it out again with the nurses watching, and besides, by now there was no telling how far Lohan had gotten. 

 

"I'll have a SippyDrink," I imagined Lindsey Lohan telling a store clerk, ". . . and, say, by the way, can you make change for this billion dollar bearer bond? . . .  Small bills? . . .  No problem." 

 

The nurses were arguing again.   

 

"Uh a'ghg ug," I said. 

 

That's when the kind nurse saved my life by removing the tube. 

 

Now all that was left was to explain, as calmly as possible, about Lindsey Lohan and the billion dollar bearer bond.  Boy would that nasty nurse look foolish when I told her all about . . . 

 

It was then that I started realizing I didn't actually recall ever having a billion dollar bearer bond.  I was also pretty sure I didn't really know Lindsey Lohan.  That torrent of words I had expected became simply, "Whew . . . Thanks," followed by a passive smile.  It was probably this change of plan more than anything else, that kept me from being left lashed to a gurney in post op and gagged for, say another two weeks. 

 

That's when I noticed the clock on the wall.  It was 10:00 a.m. 

 

 

--  Horace J. Digby --