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Eve Drewelowe's journals, volumes II-III, 1950s
Page 143
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a satisfying numbness. In the process, the anesthesian had to use much more anesthetic than should have been required on an average, normal human being. He probed and pushed with his needles. "Does this hurt?" he would ask. "Yes," I answered, "it still does. You know I am super-sensitive." "Yes, we know that" he gave reply, and from that knowledge plus the fact that he had discerned that my skin would burn with iodine application, I knew the doctors were informed, not just generally but that they knew all about me. I therefore felt they not only knew but were ready for any exigency which could arise. I had all the faith in the world in Gray and River's and I knew that they would see to every thing, that they would guard against all hazards. To find the anesthcsian on his toes further reassured me that all would be well. Not for a moment did I permit my self any extravagent notions that I wouldn't come through. Not once in the event I [didn't?] did I think about plans for disposing of my paintings and personal effects. For when I go on to oblivion, or to greener pastures, I always intend that some museum, or some gallery not yet in existence, shall have my paintings as a group and shall be built around them. I have no idea of passing them out one by one. The world shall have them. Posterity as a whole shall have them to live by and enjoy not individuals to boast over and be superior about. I went up, to surgery, however, in the belief that I should come out ship-shape. I went in the complete confidence that my doctors would manage me, would somehow put me
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a satisfying numbness. In the process, the anesthesian had to use much more anesthetic than should have been required on an average, normal human being. He probed and pushed with his needles. "Does this hurt?" he would ask. "Yes," I answered, "it still does. You know I am super-sensitive." "Yes, we know that" he gave reply, and from that knowledge plus the fact that he had discerned that my skin would burn with iodine application, I knew the doctors were informed, not just generally but that they knew all about me. I therefore felt they not only knew but were ready for any exigency which could arise. I had all the faith in the world in Gray and River's and I knew that they would see to every thing, that they would guard against all hazards. To find the anesthcsian on his toes further reassured me that all would be well. Not for a moment did I permit my self any extravagent notions that I wouldn't come through. Not once in the event I [didn't?] did I think about plans for disposing of my paintings and personal effects. For when I go on to oblivion, or to greener pastures, I always intend that some museum, or some gallery not yet in existence, shall have my paintings as a group and shall be built around them. I have no idea of passing them out one by one. The world shall have them. Posterity as a whole shall have them to live by and enjoy not individuals to boast over and be superior about. I went up, to surgery, however, in the belief that I should come out ship-shape. I went in the complete confidence that my doctors would manage me, would somehow put me
Iowa Women’s Lives: Letters and Diaries
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