The anesthesia was supposed to knock me out completely. Instead, it left me trapped—aware but paralyzed, conscious but unable to move or speak. I could hear everything happening in that operating room, every word, every sound.
That’s when I heard Dr. Julian Mercer’s voice, low and careful, speaking to the nurse.
“Lindsay, give this envelope to his wife when we’re done. Make sure he doesn’t see it. She’s expecting it.”
Ice flooded my veins. My heart rate spiked on the monitor—I could hear the beeping accelerate—but my body wouldn’t respond. I couldn’t open my eyes, couldn’t move my fingers, couldn’t scream the questions racing through my mind.
What envelope? Why was my wife expecting something from my surgeon? What the hell was happening to me?
I lay there, a prisoner in my own body, while Dr. Mercer continued working. Thirty minutes that felt like hours. When I finally came out of sedation in recovery, I knew with absolute certainty that something was very, very wrong.
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