So. This was just after I'd found out that my friend had to have the thing in her mouth to make it bigger. So in the dream, I had learned that it had to be surgically implanted, and I had to have my wisdoms out anyway, so we were all in [large town] getting ready to meet the oral surgeon who would be performing the procedures. We were in a hospital food court-like area like ones at malls (although why this was in my dream is something I've yet to decipher), and we were on the crowded second story. Some basketball star or something and his basketball star dad were there too with their balls, so they decide to show off by doing these spectacular tricks while tossing the ball back and forth. Well the son accidentally hits me in the back of the head and knocks me over the railing face-first. I fell on a table below, breaking it in half (amazingly) and making a mess. I remember something about the doctors saying I had broken ribs and they were penetrating into my heart, so they were going to have to do open heart surgery. They had me strapped to a gurney and moved over to an operating table quickly. Somehow my shirt was removed in the process. They gave me anesthesia through the mask, and I remember them making the first incision across my chest as the anesthesia caused me to black out. Then I woke up.

[23 June 2010
This may be the weirdest and most disturbing dream I've had yet. Basically I was trying to commit suicide by not breathing, not eating, cutting, etc. I was so close, too, and then paramedics and doctors came to dissuade me. Finally, as I was about to kick the bucket, they revived me, though not happily. They made me eat again and nourish myself. Later, I was in some mall, and I heard tons and tons of gossip about who I'd tried to kill myself but even failed at that. Then, somehow, I was outside in some pool-like thing that fat people were swimming in even though it was actually blue tarp. But somehow they were swimming in it. I really don't remember much else. But it was really, really disturbing.

30 June 2010
There was some conflict between my high school's band kids and… the French? So I eventually ended up bringing in the most French band geeks and stuff, and the captured were playing volleyball. Then at the end of the whole thing, we all had this concoction stuff to eat, and the DJ dude announced awards. Then one of the cat-bloods got sick and started rolling around frothing at the mouth. The DJ then realizes that the concoction was actually poisonous to cat-blooded people, which made me glad I hadn't eaten it. Finally, though, after the awards had all been announced, I was mad because he had neglected to recognize me for bringing in the most of the enemy, instead recognizing someone who had brought in way fewer than I had. So Olivia the cat-blood, who had recovered quickly from the poison, told me the effects of the poison on a cat-blood, and I drank the last of everyone's. I then proceeded to collapse unconscious onto the floor and have a heart attack. I woke up in the hospital being told that I had been worked on for 15 minutes and that chances were it would take over 54 weeks to recover. The blood tests had been sent out a week ago, but I was allowed to travel the hospital in my gurney. So I went outside and enjoyed the mountain scenery briefly before I woke up.

I was having some kind of heart condition and so I was to have open heart surgery. The Doctor from Star Trek Voyager was heading the surgery but there were others of course. I don't think I was actually in a hospital but it was a suitable enough operating area. Using 21st century technology, they were trying to knock me out but somehow it wasn't working. They started with a clamp on some vein and I watched as the blood through the tubing went from mottled red and blue to bright red, and all that happened was that my left arm started to tingle. They tried some other techniques including a series of needles, one in my neck but that didn't work either. They started drawing little tiny drawings on my fingers for some labelling purpose and trying to see those was apparently also keeping me awake. Eventually I went outside, still hooked up to all of this stuff, and asked another doctor for something. He handed me what looked like a dishrack that would fit a human head and chest in it, with a few well-placed ridges. Apparently it used pressure points to sedate people and also to keep them from moving while the doctors did their needles and stuff. I took it back to the place and tried it and it still didn't work. So I resolved to bore myself to sleep. I told the nurse I was going to go watch and bore myself in the waiting room. While I was in there I watched a girl and two smaller twin boys yelling at another set of twin boys (they were actually quadruplets) from around the corner about how they were all going to die unless they prayed or something. I started typing stuff on my computer about Robert Picardo and his "llinearzsenior" girlfriend and then got really bored with that but not enough to put me to sleep. So I opened fanfiction.net and almost immediately everything faded from view. I immediately woke up.

So I don't remember what I was doing leading up to this doctor's visit or whatever. But I was lying on the exam table (though the setting seemed far too casual for a clinic, dark furnitire and open windows and stuff). Or it might have been a couch in a lounge where two doctors happened to be present casually and with surgical equipment available to them. Anyway they were doing something and suddenly my heart starts seizing up though painlessly, but I can feel my consciousness ebbing. I hear the woman saying, "Her pedagogy's seizing. Abbyyy..." (my name isn't Abby but anyway) as she looks down at me apparently trying to get me to snap out of it. It takes me a minute to respond, during which they're suddenly prepping me for surgery. I'm like, "You know I'm still coherent," as they have the finger thing on and trying to put some kind of line into the back of my left shoulder. It turns into a "just do it." So they cut into my chest (still in this lounge room, and also about this time I start astral projecting or something because I can see and painlessly feel what they're doing to me). Anyway my chest is scalpeled open and then retractors go in and reveal my heart and lungs (apparently they don't have to saw through my ribcage?...). Female doctor ogles at what good shape my heart is in as she takes it out of my chest and then injects a small tube in the heart with something in a syringe. Then she puts it back in my chest. I guess I pass out or zone out or something around this point because I don't remember them closing me up and then doing something else to my stomach. I remember sitting at a roundtable in the lounge area again and casually talking about whay had happened to me just hours before and being careful not to laugh too hard, lest I tear my stitches, which I can feel underneath my shirt. It suddenly hits me that I probably can't play clarinet for a while and so I ask and the doctor says not for a week at least, and I lament that I won't be able to perform in concerto competition. I walk over to the doctor who's over watching the video of the entire procedure and I watch for the first minute or so before waking up.

My parents and I had been in some kind of accident. Dad needed a new hand and I was told I needed a new heart. One of the veins leading into it was crushed but they had already set up a temporary bypass. I was more interested in discussing my dad's hand than my heart, debating the moral and ethical issues and also how high we were on the transplant list. I didn't want to do it; my dad and I weren't high contributors to the world. My mother of course was upset but told me it was my decision.

I could feel my O2 stats were slowly dropping, like I wasn't getting enough air even though I was still breathing fine. So I confined myself to the room (which resembled my grandparents' room somehow) which had access to an oxygen mask. I'd use the mask for a minute at a time and be okay again for a few minutes before I had to use it again. I put myself to bed and they showed me what they were going to do with my new heart. I sat and thought about it for a long time.

In the end, I decided I wanted the heart and went to the oxygen mask to knock myself out. A few seconds later I opened my eyes again and they were wrapping a discharge band around my wrist and slapping stickers on my hand. Apparently it was never my heart that needed a transplant but my voicebox. My throat suddenly felt fragile as I realized they had already done the transplant without my consent or knowledge so that I wouldn't go into the moral and ethical conflict (but why the gibberish about a new heart?). The dropping O2 stats had come from a slight rejection which they had fixed with drugs or something. Despite the deception, I ended up being so happy. I was discharged with a nurse to set up an oxygen machine in case it happened again, and was running and flying around excitedly even though they were telling me about I was going to pull my stitches and get dirt in them.