I had ANOTHER one of my incredibly vivid dreams
last night, and it was an odd one.
I was in hospital, with problematic pains in my hand and back. After hours and
hours of tests and wandering around aimlessly asking for answers, it turned out
that I had been misdiagnosed and that I actually had TB. The only hope was for
me to be admitted and given an experimental treatment.
David Attenborough turned up - David Attenborough - and was having a go
at my consultant, trying to get him to take responsibility for the mistake and
warning him how dangerous the next steps were and that my wellbeing needed to
be considered before any decisions were made.
And for some reason, I called my mum.
Weird.
RC 21-4-25
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