I dreamt last night that I was having a complicated surgery–something to do with my back. Perhaps I had this dream because a dear friend recently underwent a similar procedure. Maybe it was because I recently read a book about the dreadful medical treatment that President Garfield underwent after he was shot–it was the treatment that ultimately killed him and not the bullet wound.
One scene in the dream had me seated in a classroom with my wounds open. I had parts of my body but not my whole body. I think anyone who has a disability knows this classroom and this chair. Later I was in some kind of utility closet where parts of my body kept falling off. I needed to go to the bathroom but there was no toilet. A voice in the dream told me that the hospital used to be a nunnery, hence no toilets.
What does it mean to be a person with a disability in a time of heartless politicians and ugly theocrats? It means you may have a dream like the one above, or worse, you may be living it.
Toward the end of the dream I found I had many unreadable notebooks and no one to help me find the information I needed. It was obviously an old dream. At least I had some semblance of clothing. The worst dream is where you’re naked and there are nuns about.