The Mysterious Birth
Awakening from a bad dream is no fun for anyone. But I need to complicate the discomfort further by trying to understand the dream’s “real” meaning and its underlying causes. Self-flagellation anyone? It’s such a lot of fun!
I stayed under my yummy pink blanket for an hour, remembering the specifics of the dream in order to write about it. The minute I arrive at the breakfast table, my brain will be assaulted by Hubby’s non-stop conversation and I will not be able to retrieve the details of the dream. He loves the newspaper headlines but declaiming them makes it impossible for me to think or write. This, in itself, is a challenge as Hubby is now reading the newspaper headlines and has declared three times that Kosher cellphones are an example of antisemitism. I tried to explain to him that these phones are used by the Ultra-religious to limit access to undesirable sites like google and the news. I purposely omit the word “sex” from the “unacceptable list.” The “Jewish cell phones” are not imposed on Jews by their enemies. He will have none of it. I give up.
Hubby continues to pontificate about the news. He is not interested in my responses, so I remain mute.
Back to me. My writings are becoming streams of consciousness, much like Hubby’s conversations. Sometimes that is more interesting than what I had intended at the beginning of the page.
Hubby’s ramblings remind me that I just completed watching a most interesting Turkish series (a limited one…of a reasonable length), titled “The Club.” It is listed as #1 in Israel today on Netflix. That may be because it deals with the life of Jews in Turkey immediately after World War II, an area rarely delved into, but fascinating. The newly established State of Israel was a dream escape for some, and the decisions each must make about their future are rich and complicated (as are their pasts.) In the same film (to explain why this is at all relevant…), the Club owner discovers that his “grand dame” mother, has Dementia. She does not remember attending his club the night before and when he tells her that she did, she is angered and says “Are you saying that I am senile!!!” He is mortified. It is an embarrassment. He fires the entire household staff while lying about his mother’s health. He has his mother committed to an institution to have electric shock treatments, to cure the problem. Of course, we know today that this is barbaric. We no longer use the word “senile.” It is simplistic and insensitive. How far we have come!
Now to the disturbing dream of the wee hours of this morning. In it I was visiting friends for their wedding far from my home. I receive an unexpected telephone call from the local hospital. They have analyzed my tests, and must tell me that I have given birth to a 2.5 pound baby. The nurse tells me that I must come to the hospital immediately to feed the baby every few hours to ensure that it will survive. I feel a pit in the bottom of my stomach. I am trying to write down all the information she gives me. It is overwhelming and unexpected. My friends drive me to the hospital. I am a wreck. I know that this baby will either die, or will survive in a damaged state. Surely, I will have to care for it every few hours for many months to come? I am producing no milk. How would I feed the baby? I have no support system. How can I keep the baby alive? I am far from home. My future is suddenly bleak. How could this happen? It does not seem to dawn on me that I was not present for the birth of the infant. Nor do I know if it is a girl or a boy, a mere detail-glitch in the world of dreams.
Now to the analysis. My subconscious is clearly on overload. DISCLAIMER: I wish to make it clear dear diary, that the details I am about to share are far too specific, and may not be fascinating. When friends tell me their household-repair stories, my eyes glaze over. Still, recounting the details truly is essential if you are willing to listen to the end…
Six days ago, we had electrical problem. In the middle of the night, our house went dark. We flipped on the electrical trip switches, and all appeared to return to normal. When I turned on the washing machine the next morning…the electricity blew-out again. After thirty minutes of trial and error on the master electrical board, I found which switch was causing the house to lose power and left it turned off. We were fine, except that my bedroom and bathroom were in total darkness. In the bathroom, hidden behind closed doors, is our substantial water heater. No power, no hot water. Our electrician came and confirmed the problem was actually caused by the water heater which was dripping water onto its exposed wires. He could not fix it. I needed to have the manufacturer repair it. I am doing you, the reader, a great favor by erasing the hundreds of words that previously followed explaining the details. You can bless me for saving you the aggravation of plowing through my angst. You have your own frustrations and do not need mine. The bottom line is that for four days we could not shower, wash dishes or clothes. I was extremely stressed by day four. When the manufacturer called me to see if I was happy with their (lack of) employees, in my limited Hebrew, I explained that my life was hell because of the poor quality of their service. Tears were welling up unexpectedly. Of course, they implored, they would correct it, so sorry for the inconvenience. “Can you do it today?” I begged, but of course, they could not. A fifth day without hot water was unimaginable. The tears flowed. It is all repaired now, but where did the four days of stress go? Directly to my subconscious! It all exploded in my dream.
After other dreams which have included a baby, I have concluded that Hubby and the baby are indeed one in the same. A baby is totally dependent. Hubby is now totally dependent. The number of tasks I must deal with daily are overwhelming, and not attending to them can indeed be life-threatening for Hubby. I cannot, and do not let him down. Analysis does not require a Phd from a famous university. My brain perceives stress and suppresses it in order to function. It bursts through when I am asleep. Little wonder I do not want to go to sleep at night. There is one benefit to delayed slumber. My competence at favorite computer games is now awesome. My emails are up to date, and the groups that I have joined, in order to share information on Dementia, now benefit from the extra time I put to good use. When my eyes no longer can remain open, it is then time to turn off the light and enter the world of dreams.
