I lay on the operation table in the theatre. The green overall I was wearing did very little in covering my nakedness. I wasn’t bothered about my nakedness really, I just wasn’t sure if I was going to return from the journey to oblivion I was about to embark on.
My Mum, who was supposed to be standing beside me, had chickened out. She couldn’t stand the thought of a small scalpel gently slicing open the thin layers of my skin, with dark red blood gushing out of me, not to talk of the sight of it. And my dad, who never really had the heart for things that had to do with the hospital, didn’t bother to come to the hospital that morning at all. I was in this alone. “God, please don’t let me die”, I mumbled to myself as I lay there. A small tear drop managed to find its way out of the corner of my eye.
The small, well-lit theater didn’t have much inside. But I did notice the long table that had several instruments on it; they looked like those instruments you see in movies where someone is about to be tortured. The small steel bowls had some funny colored liquids; the colors weren’t quite as funny as the smells that came from them. Continue reading Dear Appendix, you complete me.