Everything Was Fine… Until They Found the Last Message

When I was a teenager, I had to undergo k*ee s*rg*ry.
The doctor handed me a marker and said:

“Circle the k*ee we’re supposed to op*rat* on, and put an X over the other one.”

Then he left the room.

I did exactly what he asked. But then… I started getting creative.

I drew arrows pointing to the circled k*ee and wrote: “Op*rat* here.”
On the other knee I added even more X’s and wrote in big letters: “Do NOT touch!”

Out of boredom, I spent the next half hour doodling on myself and leaving little messages like:
“Hands off the *pp*ndix,”
and
“What are you staring at? The k*ee is lower.”

I even asked my mom to write something on my back that said:
“If you can read this, you’re on the wrong side. Turn me over.”

When the an*sth*siol*gist came in, I quickly pulled the hospital sheet over myself.

Apparently I was already saying nonsense before the an*sth*sia, but that’s a completely different story.

The s*rg*ry went well, and I had to stay overnight at the hospital.

Later the doctor came in and told me how I had completely wr*ck*d their s*rg*cal schedule.

When the staff uncovered me before the *p*ration and saw all those messages, they were laughing so hard they could barely stand—for a solid ten minutes.

Eventually, once they managed to calm down, they started moving me onto the *p*rating table…

And that’s when they noticed the last message.

As a result, the entire s*rg*ry started about thirty minutes later than planned.

All because of my love for drawing.