It was like death

Three weeks ago, I had my gall bladder surgery.  It was supposed to be a simple outpatient procedure, but instead turned into a major abdominal surgery.  As they prepped me for surgery, the anesthesiologist prepared my IV equipment and hung a bag next to the saline solution.  He connected a line to the tubing already in my arm.  "In a few moments, when everyone gets ready," he said, "I will release the anesthesia."  Minutes later, he removed a clamp, and told me, "you're going to be out in a second."
I felt warm, and floated off into oblivion as a buzzing filled my ears.  I awoke 5 hours later, aware of a throbbing sensation in the middle of my stomach, and realized that the surgeon had to open me, and now, my belly was riveted together.  The nurses were struggling to slide my 225 pound body from one bed to another.  Pain seized my abdomen as I slid from one bed to another.  As I yelped, a nurse said, "Sorry about that."  She placed an object in my hand.  "Press this button, and you will get some Demerol, to stop the pain."  I pressed it, and seconds later, I had the same curious sensation, as my ears buzzed again, and I drifted off.
Later that evening, I awoke, and was informed that I was in the ICU for observation, but I'm doing great, and should be moved to a regular room the next morning if all goes well.  During the course of my 3 nights stay in the hospital, I floated off in the haze of Demerol from time to time.  This was the same hospital where my grandfather had passed away 45 years ago from prostate surgery.  He never woke from anesthesia.  Eleven years ago, my uncle also passed away in his sleep after surgery, in the same building.  I did not pass away.  I lived.  I do not know how I survived the anesthesia while they didn't. 
I could have passed as my relatives did, and never knew a thing.  It would have been very painless, and not scary at all. As a young boy through my teen years, I was afraid of death.  I repeated a litany over and over to God, during my sicknesses,"Please don't let me die." Death seemed to be painful.  Scary.  Frightening.  I was not ready.  I read with fascination of other people's death experiences, and what they experienced.  The light.  The meeting of loved ones or angels.  The heavenly scenery. The flames.  Pain.  Fear.  Looking down at their body at the death scene.  Funeral.  I read it all. 
I know I did not die.  I did not have any of the experiences others said they had.  I simply went to sleep.  It was not my time to go yet.  I have a life to live.  I have a job to work.  I have a wife to love and cherish.  I get to enjoy more sex and fun with my wife.  I get to spend time with my relatives.  It is not time.  I do not know when or how long I have, but I still hope that it will be for many more years.  Then when God is ready, I will go to Him willingly.  I hope not in pain from some sickness or accident.  Or in fear of my spiritual state.  I hate the thought that I will leave an empty spot behind for my friends and family to miss. To remember.  I hope and pray that it will not be too soon.