How I Met My Wife: On The Operating Table

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So you want to know how I met my wife? Long or short version? I met my wife on the operating table. You read that right. She was a motor accident casualty and I, her anesthesiologist. That is the short version.

Now the long version of how I met my wife. I was summoned by the head physician of the teaching hospital I worked at. We had an emergency, he said. A young woman had been involved in an accident and had a broken leg and a couple broken ribs. It was imperative to operate immediately to prevent further damage to her lungs by the broken ribs.

I was expecting a helpless damsel when I walked into her room. But there she lay, even in her injuries, looking gorgeous. She was full of questions, asking the nurses preparing her for surgery if she could have a cold drink. They said a firm no. Then she shifted her line of questioning, “Have you called my Mom yet? I want her here!” On and on she went.

The nurse tried in vain to instruct her to stop talking lest she aggravate her injuries.

She kept talking.

I greeted her and introduced myself.

“My name is Dzimon, and I will be your anesthesiologist today. I am going to put you to sleep so we can fix your ribcage okay?” I said making direct eye contact.

We locked eyes. She smiled and went silent. For the first time in the few minutes I met her, she was quiet. The senior nurse caught the exchange between us and rolled her eyes so long and so slowly, I was so embarrassed. But that was just the beginning.

As soon as the drugs began to kick in, Simone, my patient began yelling, “Have you seen Dzimon, the anestitiiti, he is so hot. He is so hot. He has a dimpled chin. He is so hot. He is hot, hot, hot!!

The senior nurse clicked on the operating room camera and began recording. “So help me God, she gon’ see this when she wakes up!” She said.

“Tell him to wait for me, I want to marry…” She trailed off, the drugs were working.

Everyone in the operating room had a good laugh but me. I knew my colleagues were going to make sure I never lived that down. But deep down, I was super flattered, and there was an emotion present I couldn’t quite pinpoint. The woman on the operating table was a beauty, and I thought she was hot too.

The surgery was uneventful and successful. I stayed for the entirety of it. I only left when she was handed over to the recovery nurse.

It didn’t take long for the nurse to summon me to the recovery room.

“Dzimon are you available? Come quick!”

I rushed back, fearing something bad had happened. Everything was fine. Simone was coming out of unconsciousness, and she was talking again.

“Mama I found my husband, his name is Dzimon. He is sooooooooo handsooooooomee!!”

Before she was discharged days later, the nurses gifted her a copy of the tape, so she could see her procedure. And also, so that she could listen to how hot, hot, hot she thought I was.

She came to my office on the day of her discharge with her mother. She tried to apologize, but I did not accept the apology. I said the only apology I’d accept was if she took care of her injuries and healed well and fast so we could go on a date.

And that is how six weeks later, we found ourselves at a cozy coffee shop one morning, eating scones and drinking chai tea. We talked like old friends, and laughed about the sheer ridiculousness of the day of surgery.

“It was my subconscious speaking, and the subconscious rarely lies,” she said.

I told her I thought she was sizzling hot too, and if she was willing, I wanted to know her more.

Three and half years later, she became my wife, this biracial, quirky, funny, beauty! She accepted to be my wife. And for some reason believes I am the most beautiful man to ever live.

And that is how I met my wife!

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