Let's play a game on your Friday morning! It's called, "Spot The Classic Anxiety Dream." I'll be your host as we navigate the underlying meaning, so let's get started!
I'm hanging out in a bar/restaurant with all of my girlfriends. Suddenly a man (who looks like a combination of all of my doctors over the past year) walks up with a woman holding a TV camera. They turn on the camera, flip on the bright lights and start telling me breathlessly "You've Won! You've Won!" [Doctors offering something to help me]
I of course bear that "Me? What did I win?!" look that all TV contest "winners" or surprise guests on Maury Povich seem to have; the look that is somewhere between abject fear and fruitless hope that 'win' in this case is not a misnomer. Then the Doctor Morph tells me "You've Won! You are going to LA to have sex with Mick Jagger!" [Rare and dubious physical undertaking]
All of my friends are clapping, the entire bar is on its feet cheering, and it's clear that I'm supposed to be brought to my knees (ahem!) by this amazing stroke of good luck. Doctor Morph hustles me away into a van as I still hear the cheering ringing in my ears. I then get to an office where another woman is sitting. She looks exactly like a groupie for Ratt, circa 1986 or Poison, circa 1988. [Someone else belongs in this scenario; not me]
She has also won. I think, "Geez, Mick, you can't even settle on ONE 'winner'?" The rest of the dream involves me being interviewed to determine what I want to see happen with Mick; how do I feel that this "experience" should go in order to get the most out of the time I'm spending with Mick. I spend the rest of the dream asking questions like, "Um. I have a family at home; I'm not sure this is a good idea" or "Honestly, I really can't say what specifically should occur. I'd really rather just wish my fellow winner here well and say goodnight." Doctor Morph tells me that "oh no, you really can't back out now. Mick is counting on you." [Unable to get off the speeding train of dubious and rare physical events]
I tell him to tell Mick that I have tremendous respect for his work (barring of course that Dancing in the Streets duet with Bowie), but that I really do have to get back to my life. Doctor Morph tells me "This will change your life for the better." I look at my clearly-been-around-the-block/arena-bathrooms compatriot from the era of Dokken, accept my fate, and say, "Okay. But as long as I can go before HER."
I wake up. Immediately wonder why I was dreaming of Mick Jagger, whom I find to be repulsive. Feel grateful I was spared a visual of whatever I was gonna have to do in the name of "White Sugar." Wonder if Mick knows he represents chemotherapy, mouth sores and vomit. Decide to bar Mick from my brain and instead eagerly look forward to dreaming about winning the "Ewan McGregor" contest post-transplant.