Extracting a promise from “Polly,” the nurse, that if I showed any tendency to loquacity she would send everyone from the room, and would remember to tell me all I said, I braced for the ordeal. That morning, omitting breakfast, visiting my patients as usual, I put up prescriptions, and helped prepare the amphitheatre for an operation that was to precede mine. Then, looking in on the young patient before he went to the anesthetizing room, I told him I was going to give the surgeon a chance at me after his operation. He said afterward that my cheery way of speaking made him ashamed of his trepidation, so that he went to his operation with more courage than he had believed himself capable of. He little knew how I quaked internally--it was awful--that thought of having the chloroform steal away my senses! After helping with that case, I slipped off to my room to get ready, expecting to return to the amphitheatre for my own operation; but, while I was undressing, “Polly” rushed in to say that Dr. Paxton would operate in my own room. This was a relief. Soon they came: Higginson, the new house-doctor, carrying the tray with instruments and dressings, James with the chloroform and the inhaler, and Dr. Paxton in his operating gown. Lying down on my little white bed, with an outward semblance of composure, I inhaled the chloroform. The surgeon listened to my heart, and, after assuring me it was all right, began himself to give me the anesthetic. The first few breaths were not so bad; then I felt the stuff insidiously stealing through me. “Ah! how sweet it is,” I remember saying--a peculiar, sickish sweetness that I can never smell now without recalling the scene and my growing terror of the drug as its effects crept through me, faster and faster, and I impotent to stay its power. I remember noting and analyzing my sensations as it progressed; remember the feeling of confidence in Dr. Paxton’s assurance that it was all right; then I opened my eyes and saw James bending over me. He had the inhaler now, and was looking at me with such a pitying gaze that I felt sorry for myself, and told myself I must be careful or I should whimper, which would be disgraceful. Still it kept stealing on, and yet I knew what they were all doing. I heard preparations; heard the new doctor stutter as he tried to ask about something, getting so tangled up that it made me want to laugh, but reminded myself I must not. It was all so curious--to be able to think these things and yet to feel this creeping, creeping up slowly, surely. Ah, now I am almost gone--an instant of rebellion--it must not be, I cannot succumb; but, following quickly, came the realization that it must be, and that I must not struggle. Once more I opened my eyes and looked at them all--poor “Polly”! the tears were streaming down her cheeks; and James looked wretchedly unhappy. I knew that in another moment I should be beyond recognizing anything. They said I