I dream of zombies

I dream about zombies with alarming regularity.  They’re not nightmares.  They’re just dreams.

There’s usually some type of zombie uprising and I’m taking them down or leading the survivors to safety.  Or both.  My cool is kept.  I react practically.  And, even when something completely crazy happens (like I somehow figure out how to climb a sheer wall or run fast enough to fly) it all makes perfect sense and I don’t die.

Last night I had another zombie dream.  I’d gone to the hospital for a checkup and noticed that people were acting strangely.  There were a ton of ambulances appearing at the ER.  They all had patients on gurneys that were strapped down and acting “bitey.”  Other people were arriving by car and looking listless.  I didn’t look around to see how I could help.  I immediately thought “Wow, it’s a zombie uprising.  Time to get away from the hospital.”

Yup.  That’s right. I immediately knew that the zombie virus had been unleashed and the most unsafe place I could be was the hospital.

As I attempted to leave the hospital grounds, I looked around and could tell who would be eaten next.  Usually someone crying over a body that was soon to reanimate.  Other times it was someone who was wandering around completely unaware that they were being stalked by a group of zombies.  I was able to avoid most of the walking dead.  I bashed the heads of those I couldn’t.

I didn’t run into problems until the National Guard moved in.  They were quarantining the area and didn’t want to let me through.  So, I continued on my path, searching for a way out and killing any zombies that I couldn’t avoid.  As I found what appeared to be an unsecured route I woke up.

Although the dreams are odd, they’re strangely comforting.  I wonder if the comfort has to do with the security I feel in knowing that I can handle whatever the zombies throw at me.  I know that no matter what happens, I will be OK.  I do not fear a monster that would have many people shrieking in terror and unable to protect themselves.

So when people ask me what I dream about I say zombies.  And while they may give me the side-eye, I know that those are good dreams for me to have.

My mommy

My mom had another stroke on Sunday/Monday.  We’re pretty sure that it started on Sunday.  We took her to the ER and they sent us home because they couldn’t see anything wrong in her CT scan and blood work.  Monday my brother called 911 because she couldn’t tell that her left hand belonged to her.  They took her to the stroke center at Kaiser Fremont.  The ER doctors verified that she had an acute ischemic stroke, which has caused the brain to “neglect” the left side.

She’s doing better, but still has a lack of sensation and coordination with her left hand/arm.  Getting her out of bed is difficult; so far walking is impossible.  She’s much more awake and aware of her surroundings and she fed herself today.

After her last stroke we decided that it would be best to give me power of attorney over her medical decisions and my sister over her financial decisions.  On Monday I had to sign paperwork regarding resuscitation, feeding tubes, and breathing apparatuses.  It was heartbreaking.  Today I had to verify the paperwork that had already been signed.  It was so hard to read the decisions that had already been made and make sure that they follow along with mom’s wishes even though they go against my own.

I asked her roommate how mom did last night.  She said that mom kept calling for me and trying to get out of bed to find me.  Not my brother, not my sister… me.  Her roommate kept telling her that I had to go home and mom kept saying, “but Danie takes care of me, she remembers everything and she doesn’t get mad.”  Even though my siblings take care of her on a daily basis, she looks for me when she’s in distress.

She started yelling for me again today when I was on my way out to get lunch.  I felt so guilty leaving, but I can’t be there all the time.

My husband praises me for being so strong and loving.  He said today that seeing me at my mom’s side reminds him of why I’m the perfect woman for him.  I don’t know how much of this is strength because I’m weeping as I’m typing this.  I just do what needs to be done.  I call it being an adult, not being strong.

Time to dry my tears, blow my nose, and fix my makeup.  I told mom I’d be back to visit her in a little while – I don’t want to make a liar out of myself.

 

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