The Hover and Touch

    I dislike it when someone issues orders to me; I look upon it as an insult to autonomy, but what I dread even more is the physical violation of my psychic space.  Typically Irish, our family was not of the touchy-feely nature, so we grew up with the sense that our body was our own territory, except, of course, in instances of mutual waivers.  Or at least that's my explanation.
    I know women who look forward to going to the beauty salon for a shampoo and hair treatment as an opportunity to relax.  I have never felt comfortable with somebody else's hands on my head, though I used to tolerate it on a fairly regular basis.  I have never had either a manicure or a pedicure, not because I don't stand the need, but because of the stress I would feel sitting there with my hands and.or feet being worked on by another person.  I have received gift certificates for massages, but they went unredeemed.  Undergoing a massage would be  my idea of a punishment.
    I am particularly uneasy about the issue of being "tended to"  if  I am to become a patient.  Maybe I wouldn't mind if I looked like Angelina Jolie, but I don't relish the idea of being regarded as a passive entity, something to be manipulated, and charted, with no voice in the matter.  I suppose it's a control issue, but it's in my mind for now.
    But what really bothers me is the role of the anesthesiologist.  I find them to be creepy.  Yes, you might be told you will have a consultation with him (her) prior to surgery, but in my experience if that so-called consult does  take place, it's when you're already partly sedated, so not much information is exchanged.  After that brief encounter, they disappear like a ghostly figure into the invisible space behind you, while you  are already at their mercy via the IV line.  Try as you might to remain aware of what is taking place, you're unable to.  When consciousness finally returns, the anesthesiologist has long since disappeared into the mist from whence he came, never to be seen again.  I'm starting to scare myself; I think I'll go back to bed.