(you can read part I here)

(dedication for this essay goes to Mr. Alex Hollings)

Preface: my recent 36-day stay in the hospital began with an emergency surgery that left my entire abdomen open for a period of three days before surgeons were satisfied with the disposition of my sepsis to close my abdomen.

My dreamscape was a scape of dreams. Yeah, when we all are asleep dreaming they really do seem so real. Some more real than others, and we tell co-workers in the break room at work: “But it seemed so real!” and co-worker nods emptily as he leaves brownie crumbs on both corners of his mouth, and a coffee ring on the counter.

Hospital drug-induced sleep is not like regular sleep. The body only needs three-ish hours of REM sleep a night; it doesn’t need 60… so what does the mind do with those other 53 hours of REM standing in line with tickets to your dreamscape? I don’t know what others’ minds do, but I know what my mind did.

My mind punched a hole in the reality/surreality partition; a small hole but a hole nonetheless. The reality of what grave events that were happening on the reality side seeped their way through the partition like an octopus elongating itself and managing itself through an impossibly small hole in a tin can to ravage a hermit crab.

In the beginning, my mind had already run its course of random strange dreams of spurious authenticity to each other. They were sporadic and disjointed, bland enough to not recount to co-workers… other than the hellish realism they inflicted on my brain that made them seem more like hallucinations than dreams.

“I could cut these dreams with a knife; they are all but palpable,” I thought at the time of opening night. They were so riveting and captivating that my bladder nearly burst for lack of a yawner moment in which to race off to pee, letting those extra emergency hurry drops release in my trousers.