Is There a Doctor in the House?
Last night I had, once again, an anxiety dream. I have these a lot. Mine are usually in the form of being back in school. I have to take an exam, I'm late, haven't studied or studied the wrong thing, can't find the right room, etc. etc. Sometimes it's the first day of class and I can't find the classroom I'm supposed to be in. Or it's the day of the final exam, and I realize I never went to any of the classes. I'm forever getting lost in a strange building and the clock is ticking. I have these kinds of dreams so often that I don't get as freaked out as I used to. It's kind of, well, here we go again, time for my final exam and I can't find the classroom.
I think my psyche is catching on, and has decided I haven't been sufficiently stressed and traumatized lately. It's begun to raise the bar on the stress level. Kick it up a notch. So last night, I'm back again, first day of classes, only this time I'm in Harvard Medical School as a first year med student. I have all these weird classes to take, in strange buildings with complex, winding corridors, and I'm lost in a sea of really brainy people. Once again, can't get where I'm supposed to be, I'm late, and separated from the person I rode with so I won't be able to get home. I have my hands full of things, nowhere to put them, and I keep dropping everything. I have to climb over people to get to find a seat.
The irony of this particular dream is that I'm the last person who should ever become a doctor. I can't stand the sight of blood. I can't even watch someone getting a shot. I'm definitely not the person you want in charge when there's an emergency. Even the thought of someone being injured or in pain makes me woozy. I admit it - I'm a fainter. The first time was when I stabbed my palm with a kitchen knife while trying to separate frozen hamburgers. It was a deep puncture wound, and it didn't bleed, which bothered me more so than if it had bled. Ended up in a heap on the floor and had to crawl the rest of the way to the bathroom. The next was when my husband was putting eye drops put in my eye. I was getting more and more nervous and after several unsuccessful tries, totally passed out. He had to carry me, unconscious, to the couch.
The real kicker was one day when I took my pre-teen step-daughter to the Emergency Room. She had a really awful sore throat and couldn't swallow. She was miserable and in terrible pain. We were told to wait. I remember walking down the corridor, feeling light-headed, and knew what was coming next. Saw a bench further down, and headed towards it, the corridor closing in on me. I barely made it. Just then a passing doctor saw what was going on and came over to help me. Had me put my head between my knees. When he determined that I was coming around and my color was returning, he said, "Now, who brought you in?"
How embarrassing.
I think my psyche is catching on, and has decided I haven't been sufficiently stressed and traumatized lately. It's begun to raise the bar on the stress level. Kick it up a notch. So last night, I'm back again, first day of classes, only this time I'm in Harvard Medical School as a first year med student. I have all these weird classes to take, in strange buildings with complex, winding corridors, and I'm lost in a sea of really brainy people. Once again, can't get where I'm supposed to be, I'm late, and separated from the person I rode with so I won't be able to get home. I have my hands full of things, nowhere to put them, and I keep dropping everything. I have to climb over people to get to find a seat.
The irony of this particular dream is that I'm the last person who should ever become a doctor. I can't stand the sight of blood. I can't even watch someone getting a shot. I'm definitely not the person you want in charge when there's an emergency. Even the thought of someone being injured or in pain makes me woozy. I admit it - I'm a fainter. The first time was when I stabbed my palm with a kitchen knife while trying to separate frozen hamburgers. It was a deep puncture wound, and it didn't bleed, which bothered me more so than if it had bled. Ended up in a heap on the floor and had to crawl the rest of the way to the bathroom. The next was when my husband was putting eye drops put in my eye. I was getting more and more nervous and after several unsuccessful tries, totally passed out. He had to carry me, unconscious, to the couch.
The real kicker was one day when I took my pre-teen step-daughter to the Emergency Room. She had a really awful sore throat and couldn't swallow. She was miserable and in terrible pain. We were told to wait. I remember walking down the corridor, feeling light-headed, and knew what was coming next. Saw a bench further down, and headed towards it, the corridor closing in on me. I barely made it. Just then a passing doctor saw what was going on and came over to help me. Had me put my head between my knees. When he determined that I was coming around and my color was returning, he said, "Now, who brought you in?"
How embarrassing.
posted by Diane at 4:59:00 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home