I love going under. Under water. Under warm blankets. Especially under anesthesia. For the hours I am gone, I don’t fret about wrinkles, I don’t worry about how my daughter is doing at school, I don’t feel guilty for not calling my grandmother. I don’t make appointments or play dates or lunch dates. I don’t know what the doctors cut, probe, slice, suck out, remove, stitch back together. I don’t see the flaps of skin, layers of fat, blood vessels, mucus, bone and cartilage. I am under.