Like I said: around one in 100,000 drop dead simply from the anesthetic, which puts the mortality rate at .0001%. In Palm Beach County in 2015, there were 1.42 fatalities for every 100 million VMT (Vehicle Miles Traveled). When we compare these numbers, we come to the conclusion that TotD is not good enough at math to compare these numbers. I’ll tell you this: if the hospital were 100 million miles from my house, it would make things both easier and much harder. Also, if the hospital were 100 million miles away from my house, then I should have left already.
So: will I die? Maybe. Although, every new dawn may be your last, so let’s acknowledge the slight added risk by marking tomorrow’s chance of death as “maybe plus.”
There are, however, other possibilities.
- Listing this one first because it’s the preferable outcome: the procedure activates my super powers. (I have been waiting for those fuckers to turn on since puberty.)
- Wake up in an alternate reality where George Washington Carver was never born and all you can get for lunch is a jelly sandwich.
- I could imagine some sort of 28 Days Later situation arising where I come to in the middle of a zombie outbreak; I would be eaten immediately.
- This is South Florida, so there is a real decent shot my doctor’s either a drug addict or a 17-year-old pretending to be a doctor, and both of those scenarios would end up with me being harvested.
- CIA tracking device implanted.
- Excuse me.
- Another CIA tracking device implanted.
- Blackfaced. (They could tattoo or dye you while you’re under, I suppose, and then you wake up and HOLY SHIT you’re in permanent blackface. You probably couldn’t go on the internet anymore. I hope I do not get blackfaced.)
- Similarly, I hope the nurse does not draw dicks on me.
We end with this: if I were a doctor that did these types of procedures, I would wait until the patient was juuuuuuust about to go under and then I would put on a Bill Cosby mask and wave goodbye to them. Which might be why I’m not a doctor.