What Do Dreams Look Like at Three AM? Coco's Journey; Chapter 15

By Larry Puls @larrypulsauthor

The Cancer Journey; Ovarian Cancer

She was four weeks removed from her final chemotherapy—and hopefully her last. Coco’s appointment was scheduled for 10:15 this morning. In a few hours she would know where she stood with the cancer. The parasite within. 

But there was this long night before the big day. And sleep proved elusive. How could she rest during such a pivotal time as this? And then to make matters worse, a storm swept through at midnight, a lightning show that lit up her walls, casting eerie shadows. Her husband’s heavy breathing reminded her of what deep sleep sounded like—though she couldn’t mimic it for the life of her. He never stirred once, though the ground shook with thunder. How she envied that. But in the end—fatigue overwhelmed her weakened body and she drifted off—at three am. 

A flash of light. 

Then the cold chill followed. There was a mist or a fog hovering over the lights. She found herself in a doctor’s office, but was it hers? She couldn’t recall trekking over here. Yet here she was, in an office, with unfamiliar surroundings, and yet vaguely there was something familiar. She just surmised that this room must be the right place... But it looked so different.

Dreams can be so confusing. 

In he walked. He was not smiling. Immediately she questioned if something was wrong. Her heart rate picked up. Sweat beaded up under her clothes. What was he going to say? Trying to read his unemotional face, anxiety clinched her. And that was tormenting. She needed to know if the news he would offer was good or bad—or worse--ominous. But how would she know unless he talked? And he didn't. He just sat across from her. At first, utter silence. There was no hello or hand shake or smile. Zero emotion. No inkling of what information he possessed. Should I leave? 

Panic.

Though this was her doctor, he looked different. Maybe he was having a bad day. Maybe that is why he wouldn’t smile. But he is not usually that way. Never. At that moment it didn’t connect to her that dreams distort reality. They can be so cruel. But finally he spoke—very quietly--murmuring something about her cancer. There was so much jumbled minutia, and none of it meant anything to her. She turned to look at her husband for help, but he wasn’t there. Where was he? He promised he would come. She searched the room. But he was not found. She had never felt so alone—so scared. This long road she was on was not meant to be traveled in lonely isolation.

Then the doctor said something about her liver. Something about a change of direction. Too much information. Why did she have to face this alone? Then he turned and walked out the door. No looking back. Wait. Come back. But he was gone.  What did he say? Was the last six months for naught? Did none of the chemotherapy work? Where had all the hope gone? A wind blew through her mind and the hope drifted off with it. All of her secret fears were picking and taunting her, taking over the direction of her mind—whispering ideas that simply couldn’t be true. Or were they?

She bolted upright. The curtains came down on the dream. Or was it a nightmare? Was there any truth to it? Her heart pounded out of her chest. Her lungs could not find air. Her nightgown was drenched. She didn’t know if she screamed or not. 

But maybe she did, because unexpectedly, there was a warm touch. 

She felt arms slip around her—warm and loving arms. Reality was returning. The dream—now definitely labeled a nightmare—slipped out of her mind and off into the night. She realized that none of it was true. Her head leaned sideways onto her husband’s shoulder, where he rubbed her back, and whispered, “It’s all right now”. 

This time she savored his strong enveloping hug like there was no tomorrow. There was a protection in that. It provided strength. And she needed strength, for she hated the dream… And then she second guessed herself—was any of it true? She would know in the next five hours.

What Do Dreams Look Like at Three AM?  Larry Puls, (Click to Tweet)

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Coco's Journey