I found myself spread-eagled on the laboratory floor, dizzy, looking at the ceiling tiles and squinting at the bright fluorescent lights. My head hurt. The hard Italian tiled floor was cold and from the sensation of unyielding discomfort, I realized my butt covered the brass floor drain. I was weak and couldn't raise myself up. Christ. What had happened?

From my supine predicament I could see the front of the lab workbenches on either side of me. Their small, medium and wide steel drawers showed evidence of caustic spills, residue from sloppy techniques of former technicians and super-egoed chemists. The underside of the black sandstone bench top by the sink hid two old plugs of bubble gum. I chuckled a bit, thinking about what summer intern might have stuck those wads there, and when.

I felt the need to get up from the floor even though my head throbbed and I trembled. I forced my arms to support my upper body and leaned back on them as they shook, then rolled over on my knees and wobbled upright. The blood began to drain from my head so I leaned against the bench top and steadied myself. I didn't feel much like my reputation as Doctor Wiz.

From where I was leaning, I could focus on familiar sights of various types of lab glassware connected to vacuum pumps, distillation apparatuses, heated reaction flasks and several electronic instruments with stainless steel tubes going into them. Narrow rolls of paper with printed numbers were clicking out of some of the automated electronic analytical instruments.

My nose woke up with a sudden sting from the lab's acrid atmosphere. I began to weaken again so I steadied myself once more against the bench. What went wrong?

As I gazed around the room, it became obvious that something disastrous occurred on the bench top on the other side of the room in the next isle. I could see wisps of faint white fumes curl into the air just above a cracked reaction flask fitted to a long distillation-cooling unit. Cooling water was leaking onto the bench top and dripping onto the floor and I could hear the monotonous pup-pup-pup of a nearby vacuum pump.

The sound of an alarm began to clear its way into my consciousness. "My assistant," I yelled. "Where's Olive?" I stumbled to the other isle.

I was alone.

Just then a guard burst into the lab. "Are you okay?" He silenced the alarm.

"Yes. I'm okay. Now."

"You look like hell, Doc. You sure you don't need to go to the ER?"

"Sure. I'm okay. Where the hell is Ms. Johnstone?"

"She left just before lunch time. She went home."

"What time is it?"

"Three-thirty."

I checked my watch. It still worked. Three-thirty was correct. Where did the afternoon go?

"Went home?" I repeated. "Oh, yeah. It's Saturday. I forgot."

"You sure you're okay? You don't look so swift to me, Doc."

"Yeah. It's all coming back to me, now. I remember. I was on my way to lower the heat on that reactor over there when it made a popping sound and began spewing fumes all over the place."

"Well, I'll get in touch with the housekeeping crew to mop this place up." The guard made a funny face. "This place stinks. I'm out'a here. Ga'bye" He coughed a little as he exited.

As if in sympathy with the guard, I gagged, exited the lab and sucked a hallway full of invigorating fresh air into my lungs.

"And that's how you discovered your new anesthetic?" the interviewer said.

"Yes. The residue in the flask, after the accident, was the basis for Tranquilese, the anesthetic that will probably be used for your next surgical procedure."

"Thank you, Doctor." The interviewer turned and looked into the TV camera. "And that's the way of scientific discovery. Tune in next week when we bring you the story of transgenic mice... Animals that might make that next surgery, unnecessary. Good night."