What a crazy couple of months it has been. So much has happened, all of which has been spectacular.
The best way to start is with a dream I had in June.
I dreamed that I was on a trip to Italy, just as I had planned. On the airplane, I looked out the window and saw the beautiful cerulean blue of earth. Not one wisp of a white cloud was seen in sight. Suddenly, somehow, a form appeared out of nowhere. It was another plane coming directly for us. The plane ducked beneath ours, merely grazing the side of our plane. The damage was more than I suspected; one of the emergency doors was ripped open, the tranquil blue now loudly screaming as it pulled my chair from the floor and out of the plane. I went flying through the air, still strapped to the seat. Beneath me I saw the welcoming ripple of the ocean. And before I made impact, a face appeared. It was my boyfriend’s father’s face. Then, I hit the water!
Deeper down I sunk, still strapped to my seat. Holding my breath as best as I could, I unbuckled my seatbelt. Instead of feeling myself get dragged down into the depths of the ocean, I tried to swim to the surface. I can’t swim in real life and I knew this in my dream too but somehow I managed. Before I knew it, my head bobbed up above the water and I swallowed as much air as I could. For a brief moment, I floated there in the water. The sun made the ocean surface glitter and beam. Nothing else could be heard but the rippling language of the sea as it moved around me. I was alone… and yet I wasn’t. I was filled with peace.
Having a dream like this just a couple of month’s before my big trip to Italy was tough. Although intuitively I didn’t sense that the trip would be dangerous, I didn’t take the dream lightly either. Something was going to change; but I wasn’t sure how just yet. Nonetheless, I forged ahead with my plans because regardless of the outcome, there was a major transition headed my way. I had to be prepared.
Some time later, I was bombarded with SEVERE abdominal pain! My boyfriend called his father, a doctor, who informed us the potential diagnoses. Trouble with the gallbladder, perhaps. It was decided that the only option as an uninsured Celiac was to go to the hospital. An ultrasound and CT Scan later, my doctor told me that I was fine. In fact, I was healthy. All I could do was sum it up to perhaps being glutened. But, the pain also seemed psychosomatic. It moved around my body and although I felt discomfort, it was a discomfort I could stand. My body was sending me a message, it seemed. Something else was wrong that doctors or nurses couldn’t immediately cure.
After the doctor told me I was free to go home, he left my boyfriend and I alone to breathe a sigh of relief. But, then I heard someone crying for help. It was an elderly woman; her voice sounded frail and distant. Was it the woman across the way? I just couldn’t tell and wondered if I was just having a hysterical moment. The woman called out for a nurse; her voice sounded desperate each time she spoke. As I paid attention to her pleas, it reminded me of the time I spent as a Resident Assistant at the College of New Rochelle.
One quiet Friday night I was on rounds. I was about to go to bed when I heard someone crying in the hallway. At first I thought that it was one of the ladies getting over a bad breakup. Maybe it was someone laughing so hard she was crying. After going through the half-assed rationalizations in my head, I finally wrapped myself in a robe and left my room. I noticed one of my residents sitting on the floor next to her bedroom door. She was from Africa and had a heavy accent. She was typically alone; her posh, slightly uppity roommate didn’t like her much. I approached her and sat down next to her. When I asked her what was wrong, she told me she was locked out of her room. I sat with her and didn’t press the issue too much. I don’t remember saying anything in response. After some time had passed, she admitted that she was going to kill herself. As we continued to sit in the room, she discussed how she would do it. She had some pills… you know the story. If that didn’t work, she was going to hang herself. For the entire night, I was glued by her side. We went to the office downstairs where I called the Residence Director to let her know what’s up. Then, I contact the resident’s psychiatrist – no answer. Since there is no on-call support available on campus, I had to take her to the ER. I stayed with her all night, not saying much… but I just wanted her to know that was someone cared about her.
After graduating with my Forensic Psych degree in December, I had no sense of direction regarding what I wanted to do next. Being a Forensic Psychologist seemed to keep me at a distance from helping others. So, I went through a battery of career options. Maybe Pilates training. What about group fitness? No, personal training. None of these roles seem to fit me right. Traveling to Italy would somehow give me a break from thinking about it; but, what would I come back to? It would be bring me closer to Spirit, to sacred dance; but I don’t know if it would bring me any closer to my survival dance. All of these opportunities seem to possess a need or wish to heal others, and yet they were not enough.
I left the hospital with an answer to that. A confirmation. My boyfriend and I discussed what it might be like to become a nurse. I had considered it in the past; but it was a passing consideration.
The second dream.
I was on a bus with my friends. We were traveling down a sunny road on our way to start our vacation. Or perhaps we were already on vacation. Suddenly either I or someone had pointed out a solemn form by the roadside. On a mountain of trash bags was a pale female corpse. I told the bus to stop. It parked a few feet away from the body and we all got off the bus. Someone had already begun to call 911; I approached the corpse and knelt down beside it. She was blonde and svelte; but death made her lifeless body appear limp and deflated. There were purple bruises and scratches on her shoulders and legs. And she looked so young. I touched her and she opened her eyes. They were icy blue. As she stood up she modestly tried to cover herself. I tried to keep her cover up while escorting her home. Her house reminded me of my old apartment in Astoria; there were other female roommates who didn’t seem to notice that their friend had returned. As I walked out, one of the roommates joined me. I was consulting her about something; but I forgot what the consultation was for. The rest of the dream is blurry since I was waking up. The last thing I remember was my mom and I trying to find our bus; but ended up having to take the subway instead… in fact, it was the red line on the MTA.
Here I am… following my dreams…