When my 6 year old had surgery, they gave him Versed too. We were sitting around, waiting for them to take him into OR and he was watching tv. After a few minutes, he turned to me and said, “Mom, why are there two Spongebobs and two Patricks?”
Here’s my story. I was having some oral surgery done that required me getting knocked out. At the time, final exam time was coming around, and I was studying Japanese day and night gearing up for test time. In addition to two hours of conversational-level class a day, I was also speaking it on a regular basis with like-minded classmates to prepare for the speaking bit of the tests.
So I start to wake up and there’s a nurse some way away doing some paperwork or what not. I try to tell her I’m awake–and lo and behold, I cannot speak English, which is my first language. Just Japanese. I cannot speak in English, and it certainly not English coming out of my mouth.
The nurse looked at me, scared as all hell, and obviously with visions of malpractice lawsuits dancing in her head. She runs to get my mother, who was in the next room. A very interesting conversation apparently ensued, wherein it was determined that yes, English is my first language, and no, I can no longer speak it. Next thing I knew, I was in the car on the way home. At this point, English started coming back to me, and I was mostly back to normal by the time I was installed on the couch at home.
My mom left me for a moment to go get me some soup. She came back to me on the floor…crawling on hands and knees…towards the computer in a primal, instinctive attempt to go check my email.
My best friend’s Dad broke his hip a couple of years back. He’s a stubborn coot and wouldn’t let his wife call an ambulance, so me and my friend had to help her take him in (granted, the hospital is 4 blocks from their house). We’re in the ER, they tell him it is broken and he needs surgery tomorrow. He starts on how he doesn’t want to be admitted and he’ll just walk home. . . getting combative. So they dose him up with something or other. He settles down.
The three of us are sitting around in the hospital room while he’s asleep, and suddenly he starts reaching his arms up and trying to grasp the air (more specifically, the light coming down from the ceiling). If you’ve ever seen Firefly, it’s just like when doped-up Jane was trying to “catch” he dashboard lights. The three of us just died. His wife was trying to get him to put his hands down and couldn’t stop laughing while she was doing it.
::crying with laughter::
While waiting for surgery I had a very nice conversation with the baby in the next gurney.
Oh man. I don’t spend a lot of time in hospitals or needing to be drugged for anything major, but I said something silly once.
I was having my wisdom teeth out and I was but a child. I think I was 22?
Anyway, They gave me a lot of valium before they gave me the knockout stuff. I was happy as hell. (They shot me up with four vials of stuff!)
I remember gazing up at my husband and saying very ernestly,
“This stuff is waaaay better than weeeeeed!”
Right in front of the surgery staff.
Now what made me say this, I’m not entirely sure. I didn’t have a lot of experience with the loco weed at that point, (psht, not like my wise old self today!) but I was feeling fine. I WISH for a recreational high like that! 
Now, my husband on the other hand, spends a lot of time in the hospital for various and sundry injuries and things. One time, while they were prepping him for surgery a few years ago, he spent some time leading a sing-along in the surgical suite. From the reports I got from the staff, it was a gang of fun, and they appreciated the ball they had. Everybody joined in!
(I guess they had to. He was insistant.)
I wish I could remember what the song was…
My husband had a medical procedure a few years ago for which they gave him some kind of amnesiac drug. It didn’t make him do or say anything particularly weird, but I did learn that having a conversation with someone with short-term memory loss can be funny as hell.
VERY truncated version:
Doctor: You can go in and see him now.
Me, from the doorway: Hey babe. You ready for some coffee now?
Him: Why did they let you in? I haven’t had the procedure yet.
Me: Yes you did.
Him: I did? Were you here when they brought me in?
Me: I just got here.
Him. Did they do the procedure yet?
Me: Yep, you’re all set.
Him: Were you here when they brought me back in?
This went on for the better part of half an hour, with slight variations as he gradually processed new information and then introduced another question he would immediately forget the answer to…
Sadly, I’m one of the 1-3% of the population who is apparently immune to hypnotic/amnesiac drugs (which is bad if I ever need another cystoscopy, but good if anyone tries to slip me a roofie.)
Hey, me too! How’s he doin’? 
My daughter was about 8 when she got two teeth knocked loose in baseball practice. I rushed her to the dentist, who kept his office open after hours for us. I had to act as his assistant, though, using the little saliva-sucking thing and handing him stuff while he reimplanted her teeth. He used the nitrous oxide sedation, as it was fast and very safe. About the time he was finishing up, he said, “hey have you ever seen a stoned 8 year old before?” Somehow, after the tension of the whole episode, that just struck me as hilariously funny.
The one time I got what had to be Versed, I have no idea what I said or did, which may be a good thing. I don’t remember a damn thing from about ten seconds after I got it until a few hours later when I woke up from surgery, though. That’s fine by me, though.
About ten seconds before they took her back for knee surgery a year ago, they gave my mom something. I’m not sure what, but damn, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so happy! Let’s hear it for the Good Drugs.
You think kids are funny, you should see stoned cats. At the vet’s I used to work at, they’d give the cats their ket/val a while before they’d do the general anesthesia so they’d be calmer. I used go to the wards and wave my hands around i front of the cages and watch the cats try to catch them. By the time their paws reached the bars, my hand was at the opposite end of the cage and they’d look at it like “duuuuude, how did that get there?”
When I was in the hospital, and had not yet been given any morphine of my own, there was a teenage kid across the hall who had broken his leg playing baseball. That kid was on a lotta drugs I bet you, seeing as how he was talking about his daughter who was a cab driver in NYC.
When I got my own morphine later that day (according to my boyfriend who was there at the time) I jocularly asked my father if he had gotten hepatitis “from a Saigon WHORE!?” Definite emphasis on the final word, apparently. I think I had just recently seen Full Metal Jacket…
This is a story about bad parents, a good outcome and a funny kid.
One night we got a call from ER telling us they had a 2 1/2 year old girl who had taken an unknown amount of cocaine. (it was in “someone’s” soda)
They had already given her activated charcoal to absorb any left in her stomach and ipecac.
She arrived sitting crosslegged in the middle of the gurney, black from head to toe from throwing up charcoal, and talking a blue streak.
As I approached her, she started,
"HiMynameisSarawhat’syours?Areyoumynurse?Whatarewegoingtodonow?DoIhavetodrinkmoreblackstuff?ItwasickyIthrewupallover.CanIhaveawashrag?
An hour later she was still going. She’d ask anyone walking by her bed “Will you come talk to me? I want to talk to someone.”
And yes she did fine. Her grandparents got custody.
I had an appendectomy in Japan, with an epidural and some happy medicine in my IV (no idea what it was.)
One moment I was shaking with fear and the next I was totally loopy and they could have chopped my head off for all I cared.
I thought my Japanese abilities might disappear and I had expressed my worry that if I felt sick or something and could only speak English, I wouldn’t be understood. But…
They got to the appendix, which they had warned might not be the actual site of inflammation, and I heard the doctor say “Yep, it WAS the appendix, and really bad too, ready to blow” and then he dangled it over my nose for me to look at (it looked like a bit of fatty chicken!).
He then said “It’s really long. I have never seen such a long appendix. You foreigners have much longer appendixes than Japanese people.”
I just went off on him “You absolute racist! How do you know that every single foreigner’s appendix is long. Maybe mine is unique. How many foreigners have you operated on anyway? Until you chop up the entire population of non Japanese to check, then there’s nothing for it but to have you down as a bigot and a racist” pant, pant, pant… The anestheologist was sitting by my head, cackling with glee, and adding, “Yeah, you RACIST!” at every gap where I drew breath. All this in perfect Japanese…
Then I fell asleep.
The next day both doctors came to see me in my room, and I’d remembered the conversation and was squirming. I looked at the surgeon and hestitantly asked “Did I say what I think I remember saying?” and he bust out laughing as the anesthiologist started cackling again and said, “Yes, you did - the racist!”
At least they enjoyed it.