That's cold, I thought to myself as a cool, thick lotion-like substance was painted upon my chest. I was tempted to open my eyes to get a glimpse of what these doctors and nurses were doing, but this mysterious injection I was given just moments ago prevented any movement. Rustling and unidentifiable chatter swarmed the room and slightly raised my level of anxiety. I felt several paper-like materials being draped over my entire body, except for my chest, which still felt exposed to the coolly circulating air of the operating theatre. Was I supposed to be alert of all that was going on around me? Surely the surgeons were aware that I was conscious. The rustling soon stopped and a thick, tranquil setting nestled over me.
"Okay, we're ready to begin." A rusty, yet aggressive voice announced closely above me. Clearly the medical staff didn't know I was aware of what was going on. Just as I heard metal like tools being maneuvered and clinking against each other, I desperately tried to move, to show these people that I indeed was awake. However, with much effort, I couldn't budge a bit. At that moment, a fierce pain shot through the base of my neck and carved its way down the center of my chest. Such pain! I tried letting out a scream, but the breathing tube forced down my trachea prevented any sound from escaping my airway. I felt the surgeon wipe away warm blood that seemed to trickle down the crevasse in my chest before hearing and feeling a torturous burning sensation on each side of the incision.
Scream, you bastard, I yelled frantically in my head. I couldn't believe this was happening to me! I would try to fool myself into thinking this was a nightmare if it wasn't for the excruciating pain that gathered immensely around my chest. Help, I pleaded in my head, convincing myself that everyone in the room could hear me. But they couldn't. In fact, the surgeon continued to proceed with the surgery as though nothing was wrong.
"Saw, please." The same rustic voice commanded. Just hearing his austere demands caused my soon-to-be-exposed heart throb with irregularity.
God, please, I pleaded to myself in agonizing despair while desperately trying to move. If I could just get a small part of my body to move, maybe I could be in full control. However, as much as I tried and strained and convinced myself that I was moving, in reality I was completely still and to the surgeons very much unconscious. At that moment, a loud buzzing sound hovered above me. No! This can't be happening to me! The saw made its way into my incision and began slicing easily through my breastbone. The power from the electric saw rattled my chest and the strong vibrations radiated all throughout my body. If only the surgeons were able to hear my torture ridden screams. This pain was too much for me to bear! Such excruciating pain caused a lone tear to escape from my partially taped eyelids. The only way I'd have a chance of escaping such pain was to die. And if I continued to endure anymore of this, it wouldn't take much more to do so. It was my only way out.
"Retractors," authorized the same demonized voice. Although I had come to terms with dying here on this operating table, I continued to struggle for just a hint of movement. Heavy metal-like material was then inserted between the two halves of my fissured sternum. God, please! Please, Lord just kill me right here, I pleaded sensing what was part of the surgery may occur next. The part where they would forcefully pry my chest open in order to expose my heart. God, I don't deserve this! Soon after my constant pleading and praying, the metal in my breastbone began to expand and retract, violently ripping my chest apart.
God, why?! I screamed to myself in agony. The surgeon kept expanding the heavy retractors that continued to widely spread the cavernous opening in within my chest. Why was I enduring such torture? What wrong doings did I ever commit that would earn me this hellish fiasco? What had I done to anger God? I had sworn I was a good man. I was a good husband, a good father; I had a good job that made good money. For Heaven's sake, I went to church every Sunday! What on earth did I do to deserve this atrocious pain?
Trying to force myself to move, a miracle happened, likely a sign from God. I could move my eyelids. All I had to do was pry my eyes open despite them being taped close. Struggling to open my eyes served as a weak, yet temporary distraction from the painful, pulling sensation that was being done inside my chest. I knew I had to do something before they began cutting into my heart muscle to repair my ailments. With my greatest effort, I ripped my eyelids apart. Although the tape still lingered on my top eyelids, I was able to get a good glimpse of my surroundings. The room was dimly lit with the exception of the immensely bright light that hovered directly above the operating table. Several masked beings stood over my chest on the other side of the surgical curtain, chatting casually about their daily lives as though everything was fine. Hopefully noticing that my eyes were open, my anesthesiologist would put me back to sleep. My plan, however, quickly backfired. Feeling an awkward sensation in my chest, I glanced up and caught a horrific view of what was going on just on the opposite side of the surgical curtain. There in the mirror hovering above the operating table reflected my bloody, gory, open chest that contained my frail, pulsating heart. My eyes fluttered, sickened by such a sight yet unable to retrieve my glance, keeping a cautious look at how the surgeons were handling my heart. I was frightened at the gruesome sight of the doctors suctioning away deep, crimson blood from my chest cavity and a surgeon holding my beating heart in the palm of his hand while lifting it slightly out of my chest. Seeing him hold my vital organ with one hand while gently dabbing away small, droplets of blood away from its surface with the other, made me want to puke. Just feeling the cotton gauze continuously blotting my heart, stung awkwardly and the sight alone was enough to make me close my eyes briefly.
"I think we're about ready to hook him to the heart-lung bypass." insisted the head surgeon. His voice seemed to boom through the operating theatre when the staff was about to torture me even further into insanity. As the surgeon laid my heart gently back into my open cavity, several hands began swarming vigorously inside my chest. Soon, almost as if to seal my fate, the head surgeon retrieved a scalpel from a nearby tray and lingered its sharp dagger over my completely vulnerable heart.
No! Lord, please no! I screamed with my horrid strained eyes. Unaware of my pleading the surgeon cut slowly into my cardiac muscle; as if to savor the sadistic moment of dissecting my heart open. Blood gushed from my heart and filled my chest cavity rather quickly before an assistant surgeon inserted a thick tube into the lengthy incision. The pain, however, had reached its peak. I squeezed my eyes shut, releasing another lone tear while the world around me began to fade away.
"He's coding!" a nearby nurse yelled as an array of alarms from various equipment went off. That and the sound of blood being slurped from my chest cavity was the last thing I heard before being taken over by darkness.