May 21, 07. Meeting the Anesthetist

We waited until past 3.00 for the anesthetist to appear and when she did, I felt any remaining residual of optimism begin to flag. She could barely speak Hebrew, so much so that when I asked if I could brush my teeth in the morning (I’d been told I had to fast from midnight), she thought I was asking her if I had to remove my dentures. It took a nurse with both Russian and Hebrew speaking skills to clarify matters and explain that my teeth are all my own. The encounter with the anesthetist succeeded in depressing me still further.