When I was a teenager, I underwent a knee surgery. The doctor brought me a flommaster and told me to mark the right knee with a circle, and the second with a cross, and then left the room. I did everything exactly as he said.

And then he evened the arrows to the circle and wrote "Operate here", added more crosses on the other knee and the inscription "Do not touch". From boredom, I spent the next half-hour painting my own body and leaving messages like "I won't give the Appendix," "What did I do? The knee is below.” I even asked my mom to write something on my back like, “If you’re reading this, it’s not that side. Turn it.”



When the anesthesiologist appeared, I had time to cover up with a prosthesis. They told me that I was carrying all the nonsense before turning off, but that’s a different story. The operation went well and I had to stay in the hospital for the night. Later, the doctor came to see me and told me how I managed to break the schedule of the operation.

In general, when the staff removed the slide and read the same notes, everyone cried, not stopping, for ten minutes. Finally, having calmed down, with great difficulty taking themselves into their hands, they began to turn me over to put me on the operating table... And then they saw the last inscription...

As a result, the operation started half an hour later than planned, and all because of my love of drawing.