Waking up in a hospital

I wake up at 3:40am, hearing something dripping. I follow the sound around the new apartment until I find that it’s coming from the refrigerator. Looking around, I don’t see any water on the floor, inside the refrigerator compartment, or in the freezer. My guess is that this is what it sounds like when it defrosts. I have a sip of water and go back to bed.

I wake up some time later. It’s bright, so I don’t want to open my eyes. I’m enjoying a comfortable rest, and the pillow and sheets smell fresh and clean.


Why is it so bright? I haven’t been here long, but I know that the Sun rises on the other side of the building, and my bedroom only get indirect light in the morning.

Without moving my body, I open my eyes and look around. I see enough to know that I’m in a hospital.

What’s going on? I begin to panic. I try to get up, but I’m struggling to move.

A nurse is nearby and realizes I’m awake. She asks me to calm down.

“What’s going on? Why am I in a hospital? How did I get here?,” I ask, but she keeps telling me to calm down, and starts to get help from other nurses.

I try to stop panicking. “Think, think, think,” I say to myself. “How did I get here?”

I think back. I remember I was working in an office, when my boss from 1991 walked in and asked if my dad was looking for project work. He told me to find out and let him know, then he walked into his office.

Then three animals the size of deer walked into my room from a doorway in the other direction. While they were as big as deer, they moved slow, more like moose, and their skin was a rainbow of dark pastel colors, with purple, orange, blue, and other hues. They were also amazingly friendly, like huge dogs. They walked up to me with big, friendly eyes, and they smiled as I petted their heads.

I could have enjoyed just staying in the room with them, but I was curious where they came from, so I went back in the direction they came from. Walking through a doorway I came to two beings who looked like humans, but were colored like the animals. I went to shake the hand of one being but he stopped me and said, “We greet each other differently here.” He showed me a different hand gesture where you fold your fingers closed over your palm and gently touch the other person’s hand rather than shaking it. It tingled.

This process gave me an opportunity to study his hand and skin. His fingers are much longer than an Earth person’s fingers. It’s hard to describe his skin. It’s like the skin of a reptile or maybe an elephant, but it isn’t as hard as I expect it to be. I can’t see any hair on his skin, and I don’t recall any hair on the animals, either.

I want to ask him some questions, but someone yells from the door behind him that Zeus has gotten out. “Excuse me,” I say, and run out the door behind them. Zeus has gotten on the wrong side of a fence in some open fields down a hillside, and can’t get back to where he should be, and it looks like he’s starting to panic. I will myself down to that area and I’m there in an instant. I pick him up and carry him over the fence, being careful with his neck.

“That’s the last thing I can remember,” I think to myself, “holding Zeus.” But those were all dreams of some sort, but being in this hospital bed, this is real. The last real thing I can remember is the refrigerator dripping.

“Why am I here?,” I demand to the nurse. “How did I get here? What am I doing here?” I struggle hard until I suddenly wake up in my own bed, back in the apartment.

I haven’t moved. I’m still laying on my side, with the sheets over me, my left arm tucked under the pillow, my right arm next to it. But I know I can’t lay here long. “Barf bag,” I think to myself.

I throw the sheets off, roll over, reach on the floor for the barf bag, pick it up, and sit up. I’m shaking uncontrollably, as usual. I wrap my arms around my stomach. “I hate this part,” I mutter to myself. I look at the clock. It’s 5:41am.

(My notes of a dream sequence from November 24, 2014.)