Rage, Rage against the Dying of the Night

My recollection of the events in the last 90 days of 2007 are sketchy at best. My documentation of many of the events from the night of my medical tsunami are based on the recall of others as well as my medical documents and the ER reports that I asked the hospital for. But even my wife at the time cannot add to or correct much of this as she passed away from Leukemia in 2009. So my writing of these events are based on recollection to the best of my ability. The other issue is not knowing which day was which, and at what point I was moved from IC to the general population of the stroke ward. I do have foggy memories of September, but many I have since discovered were not part of reality, but an on-going dream I was having. The dream was so real that months after I came out of the coma, I was indeed positive that these or this dream was reality.

The Dream

I can see into the boat, It is the bottom deck that I am viewing from my view many steps up on a loading dock. I want to be on board but realize that it may not be allowed. The security guarding the door appear to be medical personnel. I tell the doctor and nurse that are guarding the entrance to the lower deck that I  only with to board to purchase a drink from their vending machine, which are clearly in my view from the gang plank where I stand. (The thirst theme re-occurs the dream).

I successfully gain access to the ships lower deck. Behind me are others. Strangers pleading their cases to board, but to no avail. The doors close and the boat leaves port. The journey is long an slow. (Days? Hours? Weeks?) time has no meaning, I am aware of this expedition that I am undertaking. I still am focused on the machines that dispense soft drinks. I have no coins, and my concern is finding out how to buy the cold sodas that the machines offer.

A dramatic shift happens at some point in the dream. I am now on the upper deck where a pilot sits and controls the ship. He tells me that we are headed west, To Western Canada. (Prior to my medical implosion, I had been travelling quite frequently to Western Canada from our home in Whitby Ontario, two to three times a month on business to Vancouver, Calgary etc.). The Boats captain statement confuses me. Even in my dream state the logic of going to the west via boat seems impossible and I tell him so. It is at this point in the dream where I look down through a window at the Captains chair and note with amazed realization that we are in the air. to  We are flying! The ship has left the surface of the water and the crew on board tell me that when the water ends we have the ability to travel by flying.

As I write this now, ten years later, I still try to analyze the significance of this dream. Am I so close to deaths door that this dream journey is in fact my near departure? Did my repertory arrest begin at the boarding of the ship? Was it at the point that the ship was flying? Perhaps the drugs I was given to medically induce a coma create this long and fantastic memorable dream? Did the journey on this ship last the 40 or fifty days until I gained a semblance of conscious recognition? as I look back on the written reports from the hospital, which I requisitioned six months after my release, there is little to assist in what went on in my life until my conscious memory returns around Halloween of that year. In the middle of my repertory arrest I do know that my family was advised that I probably would not live and were told to get to hospital. I also know that I was given a drug to induce a coma to buy the medical team more time. I remained in this comatose state for ten days. Was my voyage dream a ten day excursion?

The dream ends for m without arrival at any destination. After or during my voyage dream, there are snippets of medical reality. There is an extreme discomfort in my throat area. I yank and pull at tubes for relief. I was told after by nurses that the medical staff “Macgyvered” a method to prevent this. After many days of yours truly pulling out my tubes, they put oven mitts on me and duct tapped them to my lower arms. Problem solved  and feeding (or whatever the tubes did) continued, as did the dreams. But then they morphed from the ridiculous to the bizarre.

NAMASTE

DAVID

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