I remember the woman, some kind of nurse, that walked me from my pre-op waiting room into the operating room. She talked to me along the way, I’m assuming to calm me down. At that point I didn’t yet need it. She was of some kind of Spanish-like decent but clearly grew up locally and was wearing some a-typical by my experience jewelry. Not gold and diamonds but other kinds of very large stones, maybe rounded, on a necklace. She asked me questions about my beard. Typical things I hear like how long it had been growing for. As short as it was I recall our entire discussion as being very….sweet. Never pushy or harsh. She would turn toward me as we talked walking along leading our way. Her face and jewelry were a blur as I had left my glasses with my parents. Once in the operating room I laid down on the table, face up. She began covering me with blankets ‘to keep you from getting cold in here’, and started to put a bag supplied with warm air on my right arm. I was actually quite comfortable if not slightly warm, so she left the warm air off. As she was working on the bag I silently grasped her hand and held it for a several seconds if not near half a minute. She kept quiet and made no attempt to pull away from me. It was the softest skin I’ve ever felt. Babies have nothing on that hand. After I eventually let go she resumed her duties. A doctor announced I should start to feel drowsy and I immediately became aware of the existence of my heart rate monitor beep-beeping away as it was tripling in speed with my new nervousness. Now is when I could use her company. I tried to announce ‘I think I’m feeli….’. I was out. She comes to mind quite often. I never saw her blurry face again.