The clock on the wall took on a larger than life presence as I started gaining consciousness. It read 1:00. My head sported a dull ache but not as bad as expected. It was as heavy as a boulder. Moving it didn't seem to be an option yet. In the forefront of my attention was another body part burning with a fiery pain. I figured it was from the drugs. The pain became more and more prominent. I wanted to get someone's attention; they would help me.
I heard a man and woman talking somewhere out of view to my right. As the strains of conversation became clearer, it was apparent that home improvement was the subject. I opened my mouth to utter something. Nothing came out but a couple of odd squeaks. I tried again. Not much better. I envisioned myself as a baby bird emitting little croaks and peeps. After some time I could whisper hello but it was too quiet to get attention. At one point I uttered, "help." I immediately chastised myself for being too dramatic and returned to voicing an occasional hello. I looked at the clock again and began calculating the time from the scheduled events of the morning. It hit me that I was reasoning with myself and doing simple arithmetic. That was a good sign.
The fiery pain began to take on a life of its own. I figured I was still groggy enough that I could check out -- I consciously decided to drift. When I awoke again the clock read 1:10. Only ten minutes? The man and woman were still there. I assumed it was the same two as they were now discussing deck stains. Perhaps I should have attempted squeaking out, "Home Depot"! Eventually one of my hellos was heard. A woman appeared at my feet. In a voice that was friendly but seemed too loud and perky for the occasion, she asked how I was doing. I’m not sure exactly what I said. But as I started primitive conversing, I realized that I had made it through brain surgery.
Part III: Lisa (ICU)
Time article on what to say upon awakening from brain surgery
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