War and famine
In this dream my family are living in a big Tudor style house, sitting atop a hill on a street corner. Standing outside the house, one is aware of both the grandeur of the house with its impeccably manicured gardens, and the openness of the surrounds with the breeze passing through.
Several people drop in to bring us food, and it seems that they are keen to share whatever they have with us. Most of the deliveries are small, a can of ham, half a kilo of rice.. grandma is the face of the family, graciously accepting these gifts and quietly encouraging everyone to keep going through the famine. I am acutely aware of the fact that we have very little to eat, and that we are very fortunate to have these people thinking about us.
Then, Namiko and her family come to visit and announce that they are leaving. Namiko's dad clutches my dad's hands tightly in his hands, and say farewell with such a solemn tone that we all wonder where they could be going. There is some mention of ethnic differences, and exclusion of Japanese families from the rations given out during the famine. They say they will hide with relatives until the war is over. We go outside to see them off and as they walk down the street (Namiko's little brothers appearing like they are primary school age!) my dad says that we should move too.
Soon a car comes to take us to our new home, but we must pretend that we are not moving because of someone who might be watching. We take small day bags with a few changes of clothes. When we get out of the car we are at a rundown hotel, with peeling walls and frayed carpets. We are shown to a tiny room where there is just one bed, and we go about organising the furniture so that we could have some extra space to sleep.
Suddenly someone knocks on the door. A man in a priest's robe, holding a clipboard is there along with several soldiers. Who is living here? He asks.
Just me. My dad says. The rest of my family are only visiting and will be returning to our home.
The priest like man writes down my dad's name on the clipboard and says you do understand why you have come?
Yes. My dad says. Please let my family go, I am the only that will be NFR in this new world.
Very well. The priest takes out a large bible from the folds of his robes and starts praying. The soldiers take out their guns but don't point them anywhere. I wonder what the purpose of CPR is in penetrating trauma. The priest continues to say his prayer and I am overwhelmed with a sense of foreboding, like when he finishes praying someone will be shot.
Please, my dad comes up to the priest and tugs at his robe, you may need to disable my pacemaker, or I won't die straight away...
Then I wake up.
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Jamaican with muddy boots
In this dream I am visiting my old friend Vivien's family, who I haven't seen for well over 10 years now, since I left high school. Her parents look much the same, and we are sitting in their living room which is a place I don't recognise.
The room is dark and there's a big window next to the front door which barely lets in any light. The carpets are dark grey, and the lounges are a tired shade of dark cream. Everything looks old and scruffy, almost as if it was a nursing home. Her parents look worn out, and though we are making polite conversation, I'm thinking about how I could take my leave without offence.
Suddenly her mum gets up and says, you should go and hide in the other room.
Why should I hide? I ask and instinctively look out the window. A sky blue VW Golf is approaching the house, but I can't quite see who is inside.
Vivien opens the door and comes into the house with half a dozen other people.
Oh it's too late now, I told you to hide. Vivien's mum says to me, sighs and sits back down on the couch.
Her friends appear to be Jamaican, and the one that is her boyfriend is like a Rasta with dreads and the characteristic beanie. They carry in a boombox and set it on the ground. Reggae blasts out and they start dancing.
Vivien's parents look away and pretend they are not there. I look at the Rasta's feet and see that he is wearing exceptionally muddy boots. As the music throbs, he dances around the living room leaving fresh mud prints everywhere.
With that striking image, I wake up.
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A difficult intubation
(I've had a terrible difficult airway week.. and hence lots of difficult intubation dreams.)
Umesh is trying to intubate someone, and Rehan and I are helping him. The dream starts in the middle of the intubation while he is undertaking laryngoscopy. Rehan holds in his hands a variety of gadgets and he doesn't seem to have anywhere to put them down.
Umesh finishes intubating the patient with a bougie and Rehan asks me to listen for air entry. I hear none and listen over the stomach, where there is a disturbing gurgle as he bags the patient. I tell him that he has intubated the oesophagus and he swears before taking out the tube.
We bag the patient and time passes extraordinarily slowly, just as it does in real life. With his second attempt, the exact same thing happens: scope - bougie - tube - oesophagus.
Rehan gets frustrated and tells Umesh he should take over, or else they should get someone else to come and do the intubation. Umesh is angry at Rehan and starts shouting at him to be quiet. Much like in real life, being such non-confrontational people as we are, we allow Umesh to have a third attempt. By this time I feel highly wired and like I'm about to explode.
He intubates the man for the third time, and as I look at the chest it appears to be moving somewhat better than the previous two attempts. I pick up the stethoscope and listen to the man's chest. Instead of hearing noises, I suddenly get a visual image as if I'm looking down a microscope - and the stethoscope appears to have turned into a microscope. I see red cells with trophoblastic ring forms, characteristic of falciparum malaria.
Then I wake up
In this dream my family are living in a big Tudor style house, sitting atop a hill on a street corner. Standing outside the house, one is aware of both the grandeur of the house with its impeccably manicured gardens, and the openness of the surrounds with the breeze passing through.
Several people drop in to bring us food, and it seems that they are keen to share whatever they have with us. Most of the deliveries are small, a can of ham, half a kilo of rice.. grandma is the face of the family, graciously accepting these gifts and quietly encouraging everyone to keep going through the famine. I am acutely aware of the fact that we have very little to eat, and that we are very fortunate to have these people thinking about us.
Then, Namiko and her family come to visit and announce that they are leaving. Namiko's dad clutches my dad's hands tightly in his hands, and say farewell with such a solemn tone that we all wonder where they could be going. There is some mention of ethnic differences, and exclusion of Japanese families from the rations given out during the famine. They say they will hide with relatives until the war is over. We go outside to see them off and as they walk down the street (Namiko's little brothers appearing like they are primary school age!) my dad says that we should move too.
Soon a car comes to take us to our new home, but we must pretend that we are not moving because of someone who might be watching. We take small day bags with a few changes of clothes. When we get out of the car we are at a rundown hotel, with peeling walls and frayed carpets. We are shown to a tiny room where there is just one bed, and we go about organising the furniture so that we could have some extra space to sleep.
Suddenly someone knocks on the door. A man in a priest's robe, holding a clipboard is there along with several soldiers. Who is living here? He asks.
Just me. My dad says. The rest of my family are only visiting and will be returning to our home.
The priest like man writes down my dad's name on the clipboard and says you do understand why you have come?
Yes. My dad says. Please let my family go, I am the only that will be NFR in this new world.
Very well. The priest takes out a large bible from the folds of his robes and starts praying. The soldiers take out their guns but don't point them anywhere. I wonder what the purpose of CPR is in penetrating trauma. The priest continues to say his prayer and I am overwhelmed with a sense of foreboding, like when he finishes praying someone will be shot.
Please, my dad comes up to the priest and tugs at his robe, you may need to disable my pacemaker, or I won't die straight away...
Then I wake up.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Jamaican with muddy boots
In this dream I am visiting my old friend Vivien's family, who I haven't seen for well over 10 years now, since I left high school. Her parents look much the same, and we are sitting in their living room which is a place I don't recognise.
The room is dark and there's a big window next to the front door which barely lets in any light. The carpets are dark grey, and the lounges are a tired shade of dark cream. Everything looks old and scruffy, almost as if it was a nursing home. Her parents look worn out, and though we are making polite conversation, I'm thinking about how I could take my leave without offence.
Suddenly her mum gets up and says, you should go and hide in the other room.
Why should I hide? I ask and instinctively look out the window. A sky blue VW Golf is approaching the house, but I can't quite see who is inside.
Vivien opens the door and comes into the house with half a dozen other people.
Oh it's too late now, I told you to hide. Vivien's mum says to me, sighs and sits back down on the couch.
Her friends appear to be Jamaican, and the one that is her boyfriend is like a Rasta with dreads and the characteristic beanie. They carry in a boombox and set it on the ground. Reggae blasts out and they start dancing.
Vivien's parents look away and pretend they are not there. I look at the Rasta's feet and see that he is wearing exceptionally muddy boots. As the music throbs, he dances around the living room leaving fresh mud prints everywhere.
With that striking image, I wake up.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
A difficult intubation
(I've had a terrible difficult airway week.. and hence lots of difficult intubation dreams.)
Umesh is trying to intubate someone, and Rehan and I are helping him. The dream starts in the middle of the intubation while he is undertaking laryngoscopy. Rehan holds in his hands a variety of gadgets and he doesn't seem to have anywhere to put them down.
Umesh finishes intubating the patient with a bougie and Rehan asks me to listen for air entry. I hear none and listen over the stomach, where there is a disturbing gurgle as he bags the patient. I tell him that he has intubated the oesophagus and he swears before taking out the tube.
We bag the patient and time passes extraordinarily slowly, just as it does in real life. With his second attempt, the exact same thing happens: scope - bougie - tube - oesophagus.
Rehan gets frustrated and tells Umesh he should take over, or else they should get someone else to come and do the intubation. Umesh is angry at Rehan and starts shouting at him to be quiet. Much like in real life, being such non-confrontational people as we are, we allow Umesh to have a third attempt. By this time I feel highly wired and like I'm about to explode.
He intubates the man for the third time, and as I look at the chest it appears to be moving somewhat better than the previous two attempts. I pick up the stethoscope and listen to the man's chest. Instead of hearing noises, I suddenly get a visual image as if I'm looking down a microscope - and the stethoscope appears to have turned into a microscope. I see red cells with trophoblastic ring forms, characteristic of falciparum malaria.
Then I wake up
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