(10/18/99)["Conflicted arthritis."] I am laying on my stomach on a hospital gurney in the hall. I am being prepared for surgery. I already am very drowsy with the anesthesia. A doctor comes over to my right and bends down to look at me. I work hard to speak clearly and remember all I need to tell him. He asks me what I have. I say Rheumatoid Arthritis. He asks what medications I am on. I say Risperdal and Cortisone. He asks me what surgery I am having. I tell him It is for conflicted arthritis. They need to open spots on my body to release something so I can get better. He is disapproving and surprised. He says I should be trying different medicines like a liquid form of what I take first to see if it will help. The surgery is drastic. I feel concerned that I've again made a mistake with my decisions and have rushed the process to an unnecessary risk taking procedure. I am angry at myself. I then decide that it will be fine. I need this surgery. I feel a nurse injecting more anesthesia meds in my right butt. I am nearly asleep. Another nurse, a man, pokes my right arm with a needle. I am angry at him. because he doesn't seem to have any reason for poking me. I muster up all the strength I have to glare at him. He comes back to do it again. I ask him what he is doing and then I realize he is supposed to be doing that, so I apologize and let him do it. I am afraid they will start the surgery before I am properly "out." I tell them I am still awake. I feel a slit being cut across the back just below the neck. It doesn't hurt. It has begun.