I have to tell someone, and even though I know that absolutely NO ONE will want to know the details, I am going to spill them here anyway. I just woke up (hey! I’m unemployed, what do you expect?!) from a LONG and strange dream.
Apparently, after attending a routine pregnancy exam AT MY PARENT’S VET’S OFFICE, it is determined that I should undergo a hand amputation. Somehow, it would be beneficial (and who am I to argue with the veterinarians of Boone County?) to the baby if they removed both my hands via some really cool laser machine, and then re-attach them with about 1/2 inch clipped off the ends of my fingers. It was very last minute, and a very rushed procedure. They barely gave me enough time to phone home and let everyone know that I would be needing a ride once I woke back up.
However, when I called my mom she was very evasive and wouldn’t answer the phone. She just breathed into it, but wouldn’t respond to my yelling and pleading for communication. Finally, I gave up and just went through with the surgery. I hoped that someone would start to wonder where I was and come looking for me.
So, I remember very clearly the sensation of having my hands removed by the laser machine. There was no pain, but LOTS of pressure. When the laser had made its way completely through my hand, I could feel the sensation of the weight of my palm and fingers simply dropping off. So weird. I believe by then the pain medication had kicked in, and I quickly fell asleep afterward. When I awoke, my hands felt just fine, aside from a very “chapped” feeling on the ends of my fingers, as if I had been handling lots of solvent, or bleach. The doctors had done an excellent job at re-shaping my fingernails and stitching up my chopped off fingers, and I was highly impressed, even though I still had no idea why this surgery was necessary.
Next thing I know, I realize that I’m not alone in the vet’s office. My sister, my cousin, my sister’s little tiny baby, and my little brother had ALL undergone the same surgery that day, and we all were coming to at the same time. There were slight differences in our surgical outcomes, however. Unfortunately, the doctors made a blunder and had to remove my little brother’s thumbs as well as the tips of his fingers. My sister’s surgery was identical to mine, although I liked my stitching better, and my cousins seemed less invasive than everyone else’s. We sat and compared the wounds, the experience as we waited for a ride.
Finally, someone came to get us and took us to a huge party! It was some sort of Thanksgiving-type holiday party, and they were serving specially made McDonald’s breakfast sandwiches made with turkey sausage, that apparently McDonald’s only sells during the course of this special holiday. They were supposedly MUCH better quality ingredients in this type of breakfast sandwich.
As my other chopped-up family members and I sat and chatted, I finally got to ask the question: “Why the hell did I just have to get my hands cut off?!?” And, apparently it has been discovered that when you amputate a hand, the regular blood is replaced by a surge of cord blood (as in umbilical cord blood) which eliminates your risk for breast cancer, and is better for your baby. So … that was the reason for all the havoc. “But, why then did my baby nephew and little brother have to get the surgery?” No one seemed to have an answer for that.
And when my dad was angry with my little brother for being sad over the loss of his thumbs I tried to reason with him. “Dad! He has LOST HIS THUMBS, and possibly for no reason whatsoever! Do you have any idea how detrimental that is? He no longer can play video games! He has lost his evolutionary edge over all other beasts of the world!” My dad just got angry with me and started raving, unsympathetically, about what a spoiled kid his son is. I was dumb-founded. My poor baby brother! It’s bad enough to lose your thumbs in a completely un-necessary surgery, but to then come home to an un-sympathetic and angry father? Unacceptable!
The last part of the dream I was trying to apply Neosporin to all of our hands and fingers. The ointment was spilling every which way, as if we were trying to remove it from the bottle in a zero gravity environment. Finally, I just globbed a handful onto everyone’s decrepit hands and instructed them to smooth it on.
When I woke up, my arms and elbows were really cramped, so I’m thinking that my brain created this strange strange scenario in effort to explain the discomfort I was feeling in real life. Fascinating. But, I still can’t explain where the McDonald’s breakfast sandwiches came in. Any theories?