I had a wacky dream last night where I was part of team of doctors who were going to perform open heart surgery on a young woman whom seemed to be a former student of mine--although she was not recognizable as an actual student. The team of surgeons included Billy C and former teaching colleagues Bob, Tim, and Phill. Someone kept asking me if I was the anesthesiologist. I kept telling him that, no, I was going to assist in the actual surgery. As the student/patient was put under and as the head surgeon began cutting, I began to wonder if I could take it. Would I barf while operating? Or would I faint? Or would I pull through? Somewhere along the lint, the dream morphed into a surreal version of a European trip I took with Bob and another Tim that almost cost us our friendship.
I'm sure this was triggered by my friend Tim's recent triple bypass, the half sleeping pill I took last night, my general worrying about things, and maybe even something I ate.
I have no idea what any of it means though.
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