In a little less than half an hour, it will be thirty-six hours before I have to be at the hospital for my hip injection. While I’m still worried about going through a general anesthetic, I’m more worried right now about who will be performing the procedure. Well, not exactly. To be more precise, I’m worried about who will be assisting.
The nurse practitioner of the orthopedist I’m seeing for my hip is a guy I’ve known since I was 8 years old. We were in the same third grade class, sat at the same lunch table, and went to the same church. He was my third grade boyfriend’s best friend and my third grade best friend’s boyfriend. We used to joke, at our lunch table, about a lot of things we were too young to really understand. One of his and his best friend’s favorite jokes was that they wanted to put their “limousines” in the “garages” of my friend and me.1 Even though I know that he is a professional and is married, it’s very weird to think that he’ll be in the general vicinity of my “garage” on Monday morning.
We’ve known one another for twenty-five years. I know his mother. He knows my mother. This whole thing is just very awkward for me, which is a little weird because if he was a total stranger, I would totally be okay with being naked in this scenario.23 But because I know him I feel all weird about all of this.
It’s just weird. I’m not usually this freaked out about the nakedness part of procedures.
If you don’t get it, think about it. I’ll give you a moment. ↩
This isn’t about him being a guy. I was nervous when a high school friend had to put a catheter in me in the ER once. ↩
Oddly, there are quite a few people I’m still acquainted with who have seen me naked at some point. Most were in dance with me. ↩