(A conversation with Thing Three's anesthesiologist, on the occasion of her tonsillectomy and adenoidectomy):
Terrible Mother: Thing Three, lie down. No lay down. Lie down?
Doctor No Pain: You need to give her a minute to do it.
Terrible Mother: No no. I just can't remember which version of the verb is correct.
Doctor No Pain: Oh I hate that one. I never get it correct
Terrible Mother: Me either. I think that's why they're considering turning my MFA program into a three-year deal.
Doctor No Pain: Oh. You're a graduate student?
Terrible Mother: Yep.
Doctor No Pain: That's great. (to Thing Three): Here's a little Happy Air to help you out.
Terrible Mother: "Happy Air"?
Doctor No Pain: (laughing) Laughing gas.
Terrible Mother: Oh. (looks down at Thing Three). How are you doing, sweet pea?
Thing Three: I floating.
Doctor No Pain: You're floating sweetheart? Are you ready? Are you ready to blast off?
Terrible Mother: "Blast off"?
Doctor No Pain (nodding): Now she's gonna get the general. (to Thing Three) Here it comes sweetheart. Smell that rocket fuel?
Terrible Mother: (gives Doctor a vague look like "what the holy hell are you talking about?") Is this okay?
Doctor No Pain (ignoring Terrible Mother): Okay, now breathe it in! Breathe in the rocket fuel!
Thing Three breathes it in deeply.
Terrible Mother: I'm pretty sure there are pamphlets on this sort of thing.
Doctor No Pain: Come on, honey. Big deep breaths! Suck in the rocket fuel!
Thing Three begins to drift off.
Doctor No Pain: That's it, sweetheart. That's good rocket fuel, isn't it?
Terrible Mother: You are so paying for her 12-step program when she's 19.
Thing Three had a tonsillectomy and adenoidectomy yesterday and did AMAZING. She didn't cry once, before or after, and was even in such a decent mood post-op, and so curious about her surroundings that the nurse let her help remove her own IV! Last night she begged for, and ate, an entire taco, and is at this moment playing outside with the neighbor's cat. Insanity. It's probably from the drugs.