Slap

This one’s a bit of a funny one. Soon after my TB diagnosis, I was referred to a doctor who was, to put it mildly, eccentric. After a couple of consultations, he recommended some kind of knee procedure for me, to this day, I’m not entirely sure what it was or why it was needed.

All I know is that one day we drove down to the city where his hospital was, a four-hour drive. I’d been told there would be an injection involved, and that alone had me anxious. We arrived at his operation theater, changed into the hospital clothes, and I was given the injection I’d been dreading. After that, I don’t remember a thing.

That is, until I woke up mid-procedure. My eyes opened to the sight of him driving a massive syringe straight into my knee, drawing out some black fluid. I panicked instantly and started crying, which caught the doctor’s attention. He set the syringe down and slapped me across the cheek. The next thing I remember is drifting back off to sleep.

That’s the only procedure I can recall waking up in the middle of, watching my own knee being operated on. Strangely, there was no pain at all, and now, looking back, it’s mostly just a funny story to tell.