I just had my first transplant dream. I was heading with people I didn't know to the hospital which I couldn't find.
We stopped for white wine that
was half price as it was served in broken glasses. The waiter knew we needed to be at 114th Street.
The hospital was a block away but the streets were filled with mounds of grey slush.
It wasn't NYC.
The hospital looked like an overwhelmed hotel.
I'd forgotten my bag and everything, absolutely everything I needed.
One of the people with me said he had to get back home so he could do homework.
I was panicking about my bag. If Jon went to get it he wouldn't make it uptown before the surgery.
I needed my stuff. I desperately needed my stuff. My brown fuzzy pillow. My notebook with all the operation info. I needed a specific number to check in with but that was home too.
Admissions was a huge marble desk that looked as if it should've been in Grand Central.
I still didn't know if the surgery was happening. Was it ok that I drank wine? That I'd been eating all day? Was surgery supposed to start at 8?
I was hoping the 3 people I'd been working with all along would be at the hospital (2 woman and a man - no one I'd ever seen in real life). Someone showed me that they'd posed for a yearbook photo wearing bright yellow t-shirts.
I was scared. Really scared.
The woman behind the counter thought everything would be fine. I was explaining all about my brother's complicated case
to help me stay calm.
I just wanted my bag. That number. My stuff.
I woke up but can still clearly see scenes from my dream. The yellow and black pant suit someone near check in was wearing. The mounds of dirty snow outside. The sun reflecting off the edge of the missing piece in the wineglass.
I can still feel the panic.
It's hard to breathe.