A Dream - January 2008

11:25P

Roy and I were holding our own at home this night in January 2008, his hospital bed set up in our living room for the past year after his crises in May 2005 resulted in hospitalization until January 2007 when he came home to hopefully recover. We had a caregiver for twelve hours a day that we could not have done without, but I was the "night girl" and always looked forward to Roy's and my time together without a third person, even though I was generally a nervous wreck about the nursie things.

Once the caregiver left for the night an hour or two before midnight, I would read portions of the day's Wall Street Journal to Roy, then read cartoons from the New Yorker, verbally describing the cartoon scenario, setting the stage as it were before reading the caption/punchline, with the wonderful highlight of his giving a big grin when something was funny enough in his situation to make him laugh. Even though he had a trach and couldn't really verbally laugh, that big grin was enough for me. I'd read him the index of articles from the New Yorker and he would choose what he wanted to hear, things we always both enjoyed which I would read out loud. I always teased him about his marrying my subscription to the New Yorker because I had subscribed even in college and he would sit on my couch during our short courtship days and read my newest New Yorker issue!

So now during his illness when he was tired and I "tucked him in" for sleep, there was my own fitful sleeping for the rest of the night, never much time at one crack to sleep because I would need to give him breathing treatments, check on his oxygen, pulse, temperature, change his position in bed every two hours, give him water, scratch his nose when he would rasp, "Nose! nose!" through his trach (and if I scratched the wrong side, he would rasp, "The other nose!" He had a speaking valve, but it always had to be removed before he slept.) I never wanted to be asleep when he needed me because he was unable to ring a bell or speak loud enough usually to get my attention to take care of whatever he needed, so I needed to be on the alert.

I started keeping this journal the day Roy went into Cedars-Sinai emergency that day in 2005 and haven't given it up yet. I've always had some sort of a journal, but this one has become a chronic addiction.

The following is copied verbatim from my journal.

Sunday January 27, 2008
11:10 p.m. (The caregiver) leaves.
11:10 p.m.-12:00 a.m. midnight I sleep on the couch sitting up.

Monday January 28, 2008
12:20 a.m.-2:00 a.m. I love writing at night when nobody is interrupting me and things aren't happening. So I'll write fragments of a dream I had before midnight just now.

Roy and I were on a trip of sorts, going in and out of stores, leisurely looking around and shopping.

One store was a book store, but very unusual, more like a library but more casual. Roy picked out a couple of books, and a man sitting in the books said, "You can't buy those, I need the one for my writing." And sure enough, he was writing, like research at a library. "But you can have them while you're here," he adds, surrounded by books, like he was in a shelf with them. We said okay and went to another open room of the store but found nothing else.

I really loved the store, and told Roy I really wanted to buy something there. But no, nothing else, so we took the books back to the writing man to return them to him. Roy very carefully and methodically took the covers off of both books and left the covers separately splayed open, printed-side up, on top of the shelf/table which was covered with other books. The covers were the satiny tough paper of current books, smooth, inviting to the touch, and held their opened shape on the table, sort of hovering in space. I was impressed with Roy's attitude and gesture in this added sort-of-dismissive-insult of having to return the books instead of being allowed to buy them.

The man gave us a red cardboard tag to take with us, like a receipt of sorts for the books. I took it and purposely dropped it on the floor as we casually went through a doorway into another room of the store on the way out. I told Roy what I had done, quite pleased with myself, like trashing something on their premises. The man seemed like an owner, not a patron or clerk in the store, so we both " showed it to 'the Man.' "

Next we are outside. We had gone to a couple of other stores in this dream before the book store, but they are lost from my conscious memory. At some point, it is now cold outside, and I realize I have left my pink windbreak [aka windbreaker to Californians] someplace. I am trying to remember where/when I saw it last and I'm back-tracking mentally and verbally, well, I had it when we blah-dey, blah-dy, blah and then I didn't need it blah-dy blah, trying to figure out where to go back to get it.

At this point there seems to be another person with us, who I can't place, male, I believe, and bossy. This person wanted to start at the beginning our trip to trace the stupid pink windbreak, and I had already out loud narrowed it down to a time and place just in the last three or four places we had shopped on this particular day, so to start at the beginning of the trip was overkill, and sort of rubbing it in that I had misplaced it at all.

I was furious, lashing out verbally at this person, feeling even in my dream that I was over-reacting and didn't want to be this angry person, embarrassed that Roy was seeing me like this. In order to get out of being this way, since I couldn't seem to stop my mouth in the dream, was to wake up. And so I did, at midnight this morning. End of dream.

2:00 a.m.-2:25 a.m. I re-read the dream, edit it a bit, wish I could remember the part of the dream before the part I remember! I wish I could interpret what it means, if anything, but I think it does mean something, perhaps good to be aware of, other than nobody likes an angry person, that person loses respect, and anger doesn't really add any value to the situation. So much for the anger part, that is easy.

But what about wanting to buy the one book that is not for sale, and wanting nothing else? What is the red chit/tag, a red flag? For what? And my subtlety in tossing it away, did that disarm it? Did I refuse to accept a red tag/flag and made it go away? Or was/is it stupid to even think that? Did I flout a red flag? What was the deal about Roy's removing the covers on the books? Why did we have to return both books when the guy only wanted one for his research?

One really great thing in the dream is Roy is well, walking, no incapacity, (and younger! As I am, too, in the dream, like old times when we actually did travel, a nice frosting on the cake of the dream so to speak). What was the significance of the pink windbreak? And who was the third person? A critical parent? Or a wicked step-person? Or someone I don't even know, a stranger? And what was the purpose in the dream?

Well, it's the middle of the night so I have to quit and get some sleep. This dream brings back to mind some other dreams as I write. Did I revisit any other dreams tonight? Enough already! A nice interlude in my sleeping.


I was looking up something else in my February 2009 journal today when I saw a reference to this dream which is what triggered this blog:
"I came across the most marvelous dream 01/28/08. I sticky-tabbed it "dream" so I could find it again, a 4-page dream and 2 pages after, questions, interpretations. Such fun! One of those weirdo dreams, I laughed out loud, read it twice. A gift to me today!"

And a gift to me again today!

Miss Peach