My urethra was being choked off by my prostate. Because of this I would have to pee every half hour or so and could not sleep through the night. Worst, I couldn’t sit through and complete a sketch. It became unbearable. The prostate produces the fluids for male ejaculations. I decided to get an operation that would remove the prostate. I would no longer be able to have children but I would recover some normalcy to my life.
KC Cali volunteered to be my Health Care Surrogate for the operation. She had been through several harrowing hospital experiences with her husband Bob Szafranski, so she had experience with doctors and the hospital system. Having her join me was the smartest thing I did going into surgery. My sister Pat Thorspecken-Napolitano drove up from Port Charlotte to drive me to the hospital and back. Just Jeff who was in Yalaha from Ohio to see Stella Arbelaez‘s UCF Masters Thesis Presentation joined us to help Pat drive back to Yalaha. He was a huge help. KC was driving from a different direction and we met her in front of the hospital.
Security and reception were fairly simple and then we went to the second floor. There I was separated from my Health Care Surrogate. The whole point of having KC there was to have a second set of eyes and ears going into the process. Before I signed away my life on the three long forms, I took pictures of those forms and sent them to KC to see if she had second thoughts. Once you read that Death might be one of the side effects, you start to have second thoughts. Once those forms were filled out and collected, KC could come back to my Pre-Op cubicle.
First thing I had to do was get dressed in the hospital garb, which included a gown which was incredibly complicated with snaps and belts. It might have actually been a straight jacket. There were knee high garters I had to wear that were insanely tight. They were to protect against blood clots during the operation. KC had to explain how to put them on by rolling them up like women’s stockings. After that she disappeared behind the curtain for the sake of my privacy. Socks had rubber strips on then to avoid slipping in the hallways. Lying on the gurney helped hide the fact that my butt cheeks wanted to escape the open flaps out back.
A barrage of tests followed, blood pressure tests, a heart rate monitor on the tip of my finger and a hook up for an IV. KC had the genius idea that I should ask for the IV on my left hand so my right hand remained free to sketch. Once snuggled under the blanket on the gurney, I started sketch as did KC. 
It turns out my new fountain pen bleeds when water color washes were added to the sketch. I had to live with it. My other fountain pen was out of ink.
Then doctor Amin who was performing the operation, nurses, the anesthetist, and a barrage of other techs each came in one at a time to ask questions. As my nervousness rose, KC kept me amused and entertained with her stories and my sketching calmed me down. Soon I was given a mild sedative. I was told that I might not remember anything that happened. KC was the last person I saw as I was drifting off. I said, “Who are you?” She smiled and I was out immediately. When I opened my eyes, KC was there in a differed Post Op area. I was slurring my words but the pain was minimal.