Milk of Amnesia

 Milk of Amnesia
Recovery Room


I was in the recovery room when I woke up from my involuntary Propofol trip. I was lying on an ambulatory bed. There were five people in the room. A male nurse was removing tubes and needles from my arm. He appeared to be Latino. Next to me was another bed with a female patient on it. I couldn't tell what her race was. A young white female nurse was helping her. Across the room, I could barely see an Asian head rising above the counter of a tall desk. It took me two seconds to recognize him. He was my anesthesiologist. And that's when I began my interminable blabbering.
"There you are, my friend, you know what? I love Asian guys, most of you are educated, respectful, and you know what else? I've never seen an Asian wino or homeless asking for money outside liquor stores. Oh, but now I remember race has nothing to do with it. Besides, I bet you're a hundred percent American. You must be proud of your race; most of you are handsome and intelligent, but I also like Blacks and Latinos like me, and Hindu people are nice. Let's not forget Whites, sometimes they're nice too, and the good thing about them is that they never get offended like us, 'the minorities'. Hey Doc, what did you use to sedate me? I feel good. I feel mellow and relaxed. I feel like a hippie. I want to share my euphoria and cheerfulness. Did you put some weed in the mix? Can I have some of that stuff before I go? Do veterinarians use that stuff too? I've read they could use some of that stuff for human executions. That can't be true, but it's a good way to die if it is. It's like a reward. Better than the chair, anyway. How could someone not get addicted to this wonderful drug? In this' world,' everybody is nice".
That drug was hitting my sympathetic nervous system for sure.
Somehow, the Propofol went straight to the section of my brain where I had stored the ideas for the short film I wanted to create. When I came out of the operating room, I felt like a director, actor, and cinematographer. It was unbelievably cool. I, myself, was the camera. My eyes were the camera. And it was easy to handle. No need to focus, no need for a dolly or a Steadicam, all I had to do was turn my head. The moment I opened my eyes, I started filming. And I watched the movie. I swear to God, I was watching the MOVIE simultaneously. You have to believe me. I was filming with my eyes. I first focused on my nurse:

 

FADE IN:
INT. HOSP. RECOVERY ROOM – DAY
No one was saying a word. All in the room were smiling. The other nurse was moving her head sideways and looking at me from the corner of her eye, and her patient was rolling her eyes. I kept going. "tell me, Doc (I was still referring to my anesthesiologist), if you were sick, would you like to be attended in this hospital, or would you rather go to the Cedars-Sinai in Beverly Hills? Would you rather have a graduate Doctor from UCLA or from another country like Mexico or India or Russia or . . .  oh, but what a silly question, I forgot doctors don't get sick. I bet that before they die, they inject themselves with Propofol. Hey! I just remembered that movie with Michael Caine, what's it called? Oh yeah, "Cider House Rules," that's right! The Doctor keeps self-medicating ether. Anyway, he was always in a good mood. He loved all the kids in the orphanage, the princes of Maine, and the kings of New England too."

Operating Room

This was the scene when I entered the operating room: I'll try to be as accurate as possible. There were nine or ten people in that room. They were all young. Four females and five males. All the girls appeared to be in their twenties. I only knew the name of one of them. Janet Lee was probably the oldest, in her late twenties. The anesthesiologist was Asian too. I remember I asked him what kind of anesthesia he would use on me, and he said  Propofol. I've met most of them before but didn't catch their names. I didn't capture any foreign accents, but several races were involved—Asian, Hispanic, White, and African-American. But to me, they were all Americans. The room had such an air of universality that I wanted to start singing "It's a Small World." I felt like I was in Disneyland. The moment I entered the room, I felt safe. They were young. They seemed to be intelligent and well-educated. They were very friendly and in a good mood. Seeing so many happy faces in a single room made me happy. They were having fun helping sick people and enjoying their jobs. It was a group of young talented people. The future of America seemed bright in this room.

Prep Room

I waited seven hours in the prep room from 9 to 4. The friendly group that would perform the surgery had come in waves to ask the usual questions about my medical record, allergies, medications, and other information about my health. I didn't think I would spend so many hours doing nothing; I didn't fall asleep, so I kept thinking about a project I had in mind:
"To Kill a Mockingbird" was the next Germ Film Festival theme in Fresno, Ca. I had to develop a five-minute short film around that movie or book. So I had seven hours to think about that project. I knew it wasn't easy. The story involved racial inequality, a false accusation of rape, and mental and physical abuse. The main protagonist was a humble and ethical lawyer, a mentally challenged neighbor, and a jury made out of twelve White persons. All told from the point of view of a ten-year-old girl. I loved the movie. Gregory Peck was perfect for the role, and the three kids, and everybody else, were great. But the story by Harper Lee was awe-inspiring.
Another matter that I found unbelievable was that things had stayed the same since then regarding racial equality. It's unfortunate. People like Donald Trump are ruining the situation even more. Ignorant, intolerant persons like him are interfering with America to become a better country. It's regrettable, indeed. America and the world had spent the entire twentieth century struggling to improve human relations, trying to erase hatred from the human mind. I thought it was working. But now my opinion has changed. We have to endure another century in the same conditions.
Anyway, 'To kill a Mockingbird'  was complicated. It had too many characters and many scenes and locations to consider. It was too hard, and I still had to consider the zero-dollar budget. I found "To Kill a Mockingbird" very hard to transform into a five-minute movie. I could turn it into a parody called "Tequila Mockingbird," Maybe I could turn the characters into their complete opposite. I thought about an all group of black people on the jury, changing the color of the skin of the 'rapist,' and having a different type of lawyer, like Paul Newman in "The Verdict," drunk and down on his luck, (hence the title) or have the ten-year-old girl kill all the evil characters in the movie with a slingshot. But I couldn't find anything satisfying or convincing. I lost seven hours thinking about it. Ultimately, I decided to let it go and try something else. And just when I thought I had material for another story. They came for me to shoot me with an injection full of Propofol.  
I felt something was wrong when they wheeled me out of the hospital. I felt terrible. I didn't say thanks to anybody. I didn't even shake their hands. I bet they're used to that. But it's not that I was ungrateful. It was just unexpected. One second, I was in, and the next, I was out. I didn't even see the Doctor who performed the surgery or anybody else except for the anesthesiologist. The worst thing about it was that I had no energy to return and hug and kiss everybody.
You might not believe this, but Michael Jackson was singing "Black and White" on the radio when I turned on the car. Right away, I thought that song could be perfect for the movie I just saw inside my brain. I also remembered that Michael had overdosed and died on Propofol.
But I'm sure Michael had been watching a great movie too.


Edmundo Barraza
Written in Lancaster, Ca. 01-11-2016
Posted on WordPress 11-21-2020 Reposted 03-11-2023