When the surgeon picked up the scalpel, the only thought screaming through my head was به هوش بودم از اول, even though I couldn't move a single muscle to let them know. It's one of those things you hear about in urban legends or late-night horror stories, but you never actually think it's going to happen to you. One minute you're counting backward from ten, feeling that cold rush of the IV meds hitting your vein, and the next, you're supposed to be in a deep, dreamless sleep. Except, for me, the lights stayed on.
I could hear the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor and the muffled sound of a radio playing somewhere in the background. It wasn't like being awake in bed on a Sunday morning; it was more like being a ghost trapped inside your own ribs. I kept repeating to myself, "به هوش بودم از اول," like a mantra, trying to find some way to signal the nurse or the anesthesiologist that I was right there, watching the whole thing from behind my closed eyelids.
The weirdest feeling in the world
It's hard to describe the sensation of being "locked in." You know your body is there, but the connection between your brain and your muscles is just gone. I tried to wiggle my toes. Nothing. I tried to squeeze my eyes shut tighter or even just twitch a finger. It was like trying to move a mountain with a piece of string.
The weirdest part wasn't even the fear; it was the mundane nature of everything happening around me. I could hear the surgical team talking about their weekend plans and what they were going to have for lunch. There I was, having this existential crisis because به هوش بودم از اول, and they were debating whether the local deli had good pastrami. It's funny how life works like that. To them, it was just Tuesday. To me, it was the most surreal hour of my entire life.
The moment I knew I wasn't asleep
I remember the exact second I realized I wasn't going under. I had reached "one" in the countdown, and instead of the world fading to black, it just got sharper. I felt the pressure of the oxygen mask on my face and the chill of the operating room air on my skin. I waited for that heavy, fuzzy feeling to take over, but it never came.
Instead, I heard the click of instruments. That's when the panic started to bubble up. I wanted to scream, to tell them that به هوش بودم از اول, but my throat was paralyzed. It's a very specific kind of helplessness. You realize very quickly that your voice is your only real tool in the world, and when that's taken away, you're just a passenger in your own skin.
Why does anesthesia awareness actually happen?
I did a lot of reading after the fact, mostly because I needed to make sense of why my brain decided to stay at the party when it was invited to leave. It turns out this thing has a name: accidental awareness under general anesthesia (AAGA). It's pretty rare, which I guess makes me "lucky" in the weirdest way possible.
Sometimes it's a glitch in the equipment, or maybe your body just processes the meds faster than the average person. I've always had a high tolerance for caffeine, so I jokingly wondered if that had something to do with it. But in reality, it's just a complex balancing act that doctors have to perform. They have to keep you deep enough to not feel pain but light enough that your heart keeps beating. Most of the time, they nail it. That time, for whatever reason, I stayed right on the edge.
I didn't feel sharp pain, thankfully. It was more like a heavy, intense pressure. But the psychological part—the knowing that به هوش بودم از اول—that was the part that stuck with me long after the physical sensations faded.
Dealing with the aftermath
When I finally "woke up" in the recovery room—though I hadn't really been asleep—the first thing I did was try to talk. My throat felt like I'd swallowed sandpaper because of the tube, but I managed to croak out a few words to the nurse. I told her, "به هوش بودم از اول," and she looked at me with this mix of confusion and genuine concern.
The next few days were a bit of a blur. I kept replaying the sounds of the OR in my head. It's not like I was angry at the doctors; I knew they were doing their best. It was just the sheer shock of the experience. I found myself checking and double-checking things. If I was going to sleep, I'd stare at the ceiling for a long time, making sure I was really going to drift off. It takes a toll on your trust in your own body.
Talking it out
One thing that really helped was just being honest about it. I told my friends, my family, and eventually, I talked to the surgical team during my follow-up. They were actually very professional about it. They explained that while it's rare, they take it very seriously.
Sharing the story made it feel less like a haunting memory and more like a crazy thing that just happened to occur. I started telling people, "Yeah, به هوش بودم از اول, can you believe that?" and seeing their shocked faces actually made me feel a bit better. It turned the trauma into a narrative that I controlled, rather than it controlling me.
Moving on from the experience
It's been a while now since that surgery. I don't think about it every day anymore, but it definitely changed my perspective. I'm a lot more aware of my surroundings now. I appreciate the fact that I can move my hands and speak whenever I want. It sounds cheesy, but when you've been in a position where you're completely silenced, you don't take your voice for granted anymore.
If I ever have to go under again, I'll definitely have a very long conversation with the anesthesiologist beforehand. I'll tell them my history and make sure they're keeping an extra eye on the monitors. I don't want to have to say به هوش بودم از اول ever again.
But honestly? I'm okay. Life moves on, and weird things happen. You learn to live with the stories you carry. Sometimes those stories involve being wide awake when you're supposed to be in another world. It's just another part of the journey, I guess.
Final thoughts on the "Awake" experience
Looking back, the whole thing feels like a dream, even though it was the most "awake" I've ever felt. It's a reminder that the human brain is a stubborn thing. It doesn't always want to follow the rules, even when you give it the strongest meds available.
If you're reading this and you've had a similar experience, just know you're not crazy. It's a real thing, and it's okay to feel a bit shaken up by it. The phrase به هوش بودم از اول might haunt you for a bit, but eventually, it just becomes a line in the book of your life. And trust me, the later chapters get a lot better. You just have to keep turning the pages and realize that even the weirdest experiences eventually fade into the background. You're here, you're awake now, and that's what matters most.