2 recent dreams: A touchable cloud and anaesthesia for prisoners

A touchable cloud

In this dream I was at the resort on daydream island - I can picture it so well, with the faint disinfectant smell in the corridors, the slightly dark corners, the mild tang of mustiness in our room. Sim and I had attended the  bedside critical care conference here last year, and everything was just as I remembered it.

I was walking along the corridor in a hurry, and the place was deserted. I knew I had to get back to my room because I had to get changed to go on a trip to a beach somewhere.

As I walked, I realised I had no idea which room I was in, so I started looking around for something to prompt me. I walked past the stairwell where you can see the pool just next to the building, but strangely there was no-one in the pool. The sun shone brightly and the surface of the water glimmered.

I paused there for a second. The sky suddenly darkened and I looked up to see the rapid approach of a large rain cloud. It was thick, dense and grey, signifying the imminent onset of rain.

I thought for a moment that maybe our beach trip was going to be ruined. Then I realised the cloud was coming down towards the earth like it was going to smother the whole resort. It was moving sideways as well as downwards and as it got closer, I could feel a whoosh of cold air brush my face.

I reached out and touched the cloud as it moved past me. I could feel it just in my fingertips, a roughness that resembled unprocessed wool. Then I felt an edge and realised that I was holding the edge of the cloud in my hand.

Then I woke up.


Anaesthesia for prisoners
In this dream I'm moderately old, maybe around 50.

I receive an email from someone, which says that the newly elected government has deemed that prisoners have no human rights and thus will no longer receive free healthcare under this government. I feel suitably enraged.

The next scene, I am inside an operating theatre and I intuitively know that I'm inside a jail. Everything is absolutely ancient - the ventilator is operated with rusted levers and a bellows that sticks to the sides of the canister, there's halothane in the vaporiser, everything looks non-disposable.. It's a scene from the developing world of yesteryear.

I realise that I am working with a volunteer surgeon as a volunteer anaesthetist, and we are operating on a man's lung cancer. The surgeon tells me with great regret that the cancer is too far advanced and that he wouldn't be able to cure the man, but if he had been there just months before he may well have been able to complete the operation.

We exchange angry words about the government, and finish the case. We walk outside and join some other volunteer surgeons and anaesthetists, and discuss our next mission. As we leave the jail, it is quite dark outside. We go in separate cars to the next jail, and it starts raining along the way. I'm in the car with a handful of other doctors, but I seem to be only interested in looking out the window.

When we get to the other jail, it is on a hilltop surrounded by huge fences. I wonder if it's a super maximum security jail, then we pull up into an empty carpark. We look around for the entrance but don't seem to see any. The rain is quite heavy and we are all getting soaked.

Finally a guard points us around the corner, and when we get to the entrance it's actually a large noisy bar full of tourists. The entrance to the jail is through a bar? I think in the dream, but we need to be sober to keep operating.

Then I wake up.

Food: Brisbane

Weekend of relaxation and eating in Brisbane.

Gunshop cafe, West End

This was a super popular cafe and it was easy to see why. The decor was a little quirky with a few antiques strewn casually about the place. The front part is a cosy old room (the old gun shop), and the back an open space with a wall of strawberry pot plants, so cute!

 This was the standout dish: french toast brioche with maple syrup, crispy bacon and bananas. None of us were hardcore bacon fans, but the elements of crisp/mushy, sweet/salty really worked in this dish. 

Lamb cutlets for breakfast.. a little unusual but well paired with tasty tomato relish and bubble&squeak.

Salmon bagel with poached egg.


Chouquette, New Farm

A French patisserie with all sorts of tempting cakes and slices. We had strawberry tart, lemon tart and a chocolate caramel slice.


Two

 A little change to our usual cheap & cheerful eating style, this was serious sit down food with tablecloths and polished cutlery. This was their special dish, roast suckling pig which was served with roasted winter vegetables (including an impossibly intense caramelised carrot). 


Boggo Rd Jail markets

Have to love the name! Mostly a fresh food market, it sold lots of local produce and had an interesting selection of breakfast stalls. We had a Venezuelan arepa (corn cake) filled with pulled pork and served with hot spicy sauce, an okonomiyaki with local pork and eggs (so much cheesy goodness) and a Hungarian langos. What a delicious way to increase one's cholesterol - deep fried puffy bread topped with cream cheese, smoked salmon and herbs. 

Riverbend Books, Bulimba

As usual we ate too much, so had to stop for a drink and browse through the funky suburb of Bulimba. This iced coffee was at the Riverbend Books & Teahouse, where they had adorable magnolias in mini bottles at every table.

Yeshi Buna, Moorooka
We debated where to have our last meal, a late Sunday lunch. I had woken in the morning with a craving for injera, and so though my companions were pretty sceptical, we headed to Moorooka to search out African food.

This is apparently the place where many Sudanese refugees have settled, and it's pretty obvious they have settled in well. A group of young men were perched on the footpath playing dominos outside the Sudanese restaurant (spaghetti, chicken & chips - is that what they really eat in Sudan??). One of the shopping arcades held an Ethiopian bakery in which young people lingered playing cards. We went into a shop that sold all sorts of strange things imported from the Middle East, and the random collection (jeans, next to palm oil) made us wonder if shops were like this in Sudan.

We were grateful for the shopkeeper's suggestion that we try the restaurant next to the post office. I was highly amused to see that it's called Yeshi Buna, the name of a popular cafe chain in Addis Ababa. The place was super bright (yellow) and cheerful, with traditional Ethiopian eating tables scattered around simple normal tables. The owner was friendly and the food was homely, could not ask for more.

We had a mixed plate with meat & vegetable options - as in Ethiopia the tastiest were the lentil dish and the spinach dish. My friends didn';t like the injera, but it did take me quite a while to get used to it when I visited Ethiopia as well. This was a toned down version, hardly fermented at all with only a very mild sour taste. I was impressed that they even had breakfast options like firfir and chechebsa - I wish they were in Sydney so I could go there for breakfast! The coffee came served in the old school Ethiopian claypots, intensely strong and sweet, albeit without the popcorn that was served to other customers.

 

A tale of two water villages

The area around Shanghai is well known for its water villages, where people traditionally lived around a canal system. The water supplied all their needs, served as a form of transport, and most importantly contributed to the agriculture around the region, such that this became a prosperous area.

I first heard about all this 15 years ago when I was still in high school, back in China on a visit. A friend told me about taking an overnight trip to discover Zhouzhuang, and like so many other things it just got filed at the back of my mind. In the years between then and now, I've been to a number of water villages, most of which fell to tourism much before my visit. I never entertained the thought of visiting the "original" water village to open up to tourism, because I always thought it would be awful.

And it was, in the tacky Chinese way of being overcrowded with groups and megaphones, shops and touts, terrible food, rubbish everywhere..

Yet one could not deny the natural beauty of Zhouzhuang, with canals sprouting everywhere you turn and quaint old stone bridges connecting different residential areas.. I mean tourist shops.

People still live here in these old houses, but now the whole town caters only to the whims of tourists. These blue canvas-topped gondolas were everywhere, cluttering up the canals and creating mini gondola-jams. Looking away from the crowds, one could still find a little hint of nature.

  Ivy covering an abandoned house.

Pretty little flowers by the canal

Like so many things in China, some places are super "hot" and others near it might be just the same but no-one goes there because it's not famous. We went to Jinze, the town adjacent to Zhouzhuang, and to be honest I wasn't expecting much. Was I really the first person ever to think, hey maybe the town next to this place would be similar but not so touristy?? 

Apparently, I'm not so Chinese in thought, for we couldn't even find the village and had to stop in the "new town" to ask for directions to the "old town". 

We parked near the canal leading up to the entrance to the old town. As we approached the bridge, a local man came up to us and said (rather proudly): you can drive inside now! we've done up all the streets so cars can get in. 

Jinze is famous for its bridges, which are each attached to a temple. Many of the temples are now ruined, but some were being renovated when we were visiting. 

Refreshingly, there was no steep entrance fee (Y130 ~ $20 to enter Zhouzhuang) and the streets were practically deserted. A few old people came out of their houses to stare at us, and children played by the canal. 

A shopkeeper stopped us and directed us to the "gondola kiosk" which I was somewhat sceptical about (thinking it would be like every other gondola trip in south China). When we got there, the shutters were closed and a mobile number was scrawled across in red paint. When we called the number, the man told us to wait while he was finishing his meal. Our Chinese family friends complained about his lack of earnestness in moneymaking, but I didn't mind the idling by the river.

One of the bridges had been redone to be "modern" and it was interesting to see what the ideas of "modern" are. It's painted entirely in red, in contrast to all the other bridges in original stone or wood. Garish lion heads poked out of random beams, and the whole thing looked like it fitted better in a playground.

An old bridge

I'm pretty anti touristy boat rides, but this guy was enthusiastic as he showed us around. He told us he was the only boat operator in Jinze so far (indeed his business name is No. 1 boat of Jinze), and he was praying that the tourism trade would take off as it did in so many other water towns in the region. His wife came in at the end, made us all tea in their little shop and beseeched us to advertise Jinze to the outside world. It felt like the China of yesteryear, I couldn't believe we were merely 20km from Zhouzhuang..

Shanghai - a little nostalgia

I grew up in a grand old house in the heart of Shanghai's French Concession. No one knows how old the place is, but it was probably built during the period of French occupation and eventually fell into the hands of a rich businessman. After he and his family fled to Hong Kong, the government divided the house into ten separate living spaces and gave them out to various families. This is how my family came to live in this place in 1959.

The house has been crumbling for as long as I can remember - the walls peel, the floors creak and the space under the floors is occupied by all sorts of random animals from wild rats to wild cats. The pipes freeze over in winter and sometimes the water stops. Despite this, it has a real charm to it that perhaps everyone attaches to their childhood home.

 The original windows leading out to the deck

Spring is a beautiful season to be in Shanghai. The maple trees in the French Concession somehow escaped the exploding development of metropolitan Shanghai, standing stubbornly by the roadside as they have done for many decades.

Looking down the street near my house.

Alley near the German consulate on my street

 

 I wonder who carved my street name on a tree?

.

Dream: a cheating husband and the Epping rail tunnel

In this dream I come home to a house I don't recognise and walk through a living room that I've never seen before. There's a man in the room that I implicitly understand is my husband, and he is standing in front of a window looking out, next to the couch which is scattered with colourful cushions and throws. The house gives a cosy vibrant feel.

He turns and greets me, but there is a somewhat complex expression on his face. I go up the stairs and the second level of the house is a large loft. There's a huge bed in the middle of the loft and the bedspread is dark grey. I can see a sleeping woman under the sheets so I pull the whole bedspread off and she is sprawled on her side completely naked, her golden hair fanned out like a halo on the pillows.

Without any intrinsic thought in the dream, I walk away from the woman, still sleeping. I go back down the stairs, slap my husband, and walk out the door. We appear to be living inside a terrace with some steps leading down to the street.

The next scene is at a wedding, full of people and noisy happiness. I am standing with a flute of champagne in hand, chatting with Anne. She is counselling me about the merits of leaving cheating husbands earlier rather than later, but I'm not really listening. There are so many people around that my brain is distracted by all the sounds.

I want to go home, but my dad has already left in a car with our neighbours. Anne and I run into Hsiang, who says he will give us a lift. We walk with him to the carpark and he has bought a brand new dark burgundy Land Rover, which looks like a spaceship amongst all the other little cars. All Hsiang's Ruse friends appear to be there, crammed into the car. There appears to be nowhere for us to sit, so he drives off with his friends and we still have no way to get home.

Then Anne decides to get a lift from her dad and I start walking home. Shortly after I leave the church I realise my phone has lost its sim card and is showing a DOS like screen. Unable to call anyone to come get me, I keep walking in the general direction of home, wherever that might be.

Soon I come to a tunnel and it looks like the railway tunnel just before one approaches Epping station from the north. Not being able to see any way to get around the tunnel, I plunge into the darkness, feeling my way along the wall which is damp and slightly slimy. Several trains roar past, almost clipping me, but I don't care because I feel so angry in the dream like it would not make any difference if I died (what have I to live for? a cheating husband? friends who have deserted me?)

At the other end of the tunnel I can see light, but before I get to the light I enter a large room full of discarded old chairs and toilet seats. The chairs look like they've been used in nursing homes and the toilets are scattered amongst the chairs as if the original occupants of the room had to get to the toilet very quickly.

A middle aged woman enters the room and says, you won't be able to get out that way, let me show you.

How old is this place? I ask the woman.
Never mind, my dear. She says. No matter what happens, in a hundred years time everyone will see you the same way as you see this place.

With that cryptic comment she disappears into the darkness and I am standing in front of a wall. Even with my eyes adjusted to the dark and the dim light that is afforded by the end of the tunnel maybe just 100m away, I can barely make out any features of the wall. Feeling with my hands, I can feel several notches in the wall close enough together to be footholds.

I start climbing up the footholds, and after a few they come to an abrupt end. So I'm standing with my feet wedged into this wall when I realise the wall is so slippery because it's covered in urine.

And then I wake up.

A glimpse of Wuhan

This time I was in China, I decided to go to Wuhan to visit my friend Liz who I'd met many years ago when she was living in Lhasa. We hadn't seen each other for 5 years since the last time we had travelled to Nepal together. So much has changed in our lives, yet at the same time so little, I guess we never really change as people even if our circumstances change.

What else to do in Wuhan but to eat? The weather was totally miserable - it had been fiendishly hot before I got there and I was "blessed" with a couple of overcast days dotted by rain. The sky was dishwater grey and the air thick like the inside of a dirty filter - if it wasn't for my friend I don't think I would have ever visited Wuhan.

Wuhan style shao mai, made using what tasted like wonton wrappers and filled with a spicy peppery mince which oozed out the sides as we ate, covering our fingers in sticky hot oil.

Strangely this is called dou pi or bean skin - my brain had imagined this to be some sort of tofu dish where it was maybe sliced up and mixed with something. Nothing like my imagination, it's actually cooked sticky rice mixed with a concotion of dried bamboo, preserved sausages and mince, the whole thing covered with a thin layer of fried egg. The man on full time dou pi duty fries the egg first, then spreads the rice and the savoury mix on top, then flips the whole thing over. Quite impressive how he keeps it all very neat.

As we walked around the city, I felt like I had to take a few obligatory tourist snaps, but I'm really bad at that. This is the first bridge over the Yangtze river, built by the Russians during the time when China was friendly with them. One can see how bad the air pollution is - the bridge appears to disappear into the mist and despite the fact the river is only a few hundred metres across, the other side is barely visible.

The city centre pedestrian street had a few random bronze statues, I thought this little kid was pretty cute.

At night we went to the most popular local chain, famous for its mini "lobsters". It was so popular that it had bought out several surrounding restaurants and despite all the original signs still being there advertising other random food, it all belonged to the same shop. 

 Sichuan-style rice vermicelli with a mouth numbing chilli paste and delicious roasted peanuts. 

Cold noodles, a local specialty mixed with sesame paste, vinegar and soy sauce. This was so tasty we ate another bowl after we finished the lobsters. And then got a maxi serving in a bucket for a midnight snack.

Mini lobsters - I don't actually know what these are, maybe crayfish? They must be really smart creatures because their brains were absolutely humongous and the bodies contained just a morsel of sweet flesh. We had ours pan fried with mouth numbing chilli paste, and I swear the sauce was sympathomimetic - I felt so high afterwards and was tachycardic for hours. 

Gloves - what a great idea! We went through several pairs. 

Rice noodles with fish broth. Small fish which are unsuitable for other types of cooking are cooked down to make a rich pungent fish stock, which is then served over fresh rice noodles. Tasted like you were slurping the inside of a fish.

My absolute highlight of Wuhan - re gan mian or hot dry noodles. Really simple wheat noodles (nothing fancy, nothing added), cooked and mixed with sesame paste, sesame oil, chilli and preserved vegetables. This is the most well known breakfast in Wuhan, and I can see why - in winter it's the perfect warmer, and in summer it's so hot it makes you sweat enough to cool down. The noodles are firmer than most other noodles I've eaten in China, and the strands are perfectly coated with the sticky sauce which really works despite a somewhat odd combination. Wuhan people love this dish so much that they make instant noodles of this particular dish, which I took home (and ate copiously in Cairns).

I can't remember the last time I saw soymilk in glass bottles! Reminiscent of my childhood.

Then it started pouring and we were stuck indoors with not much to do.. so we took out Liz's expensive violin and took turns playing it for a while. The Tchaikovsky concerto is a dream for us both, and it's such a beautiful piece no matter which little phrases one manages to squeeze out. Her dad also has an erhu which he plays well - it's a deceptively difficult instrument given it only has two strings and they are bloody close together.

Before I knew it my two days in Wuhan were over and I was back at the airport heading to Shanghai. I remember when we were younger, we both aspired to go to Africa to work. I wonder what's happened to our dreams now that we are older and more "established" in life. They are still there but somewhat buried under all the practicalities of life - can I dig mine out soon? I'm really, really ready for an adventure.

Recent dreams: war, Jamaican rastas, and a difficult intubation

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