Wednesday, June 07, 2006

"Love is careless in its choosing."

This morning I dreamt . . .

Wearing surgical scrubs, I am prepped for surgery -- green gown over my clothes, covers for my shoes, and a cap for my hair. The doctor tells me that it's only "minor surgery" and nothing to be worried about. I nod my head, understanding.

I am then escorted by the doctor through the various wings and waiting rooms that line the journey to the operating room. People gawk a little as I am rather conspicuous in my gown and coverings. We go through a crowd of people on our way to a flight of stairs and I panic when I glimpse Anne among the crowd -- I don't want her to see me, much less see my ridiculous hospital outfit. Then again how could she recognize me?

The doctor and I head down a labyrinth of stairs and into the basement level of the hospital. Along a long corridor with black marble floors, I pass a number of operating rooms. One is particularly cavernous -- as large as a basketball court and lined with empty elevated seating. From the windows in the door, I can view an operation in progress. I don't linger long.

The doctor directs me to what will be my operating room. Metallic and sanitized, bright overhead lights surround a metal table. It is at this point that I become nervous. Is this really minor surgery? On the long metal table before me is a what can only be described as a pathology specimen -- an organ in pieces from some unknown trauma. But wait -- this organ belongs to me! There's a certain horror in this realization and my hands grasp at my abdomen and chest for any clue as to where this missing organ belongs.

Bernadette Peters enters the room. Perhaps she is the chief of surgery? She holds the one of the pieces of my broken organ, which looks suspiciously like a torn piece of a human heart. "It looks much smaller than it should," she says with disdain.

"But I'm only 27!" I protest.

This is when I wake and realize I've overslept my alarm.

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