I have more to say about NaNoWriMo and what I hope to accomplish with it. In yesterday’s post, I talked about my time in the hospital. In part because I wanted to talk about it, but also because I want to write about it. I have toyed with the idea of writing a memoir since my medical crisis.
Side note: In the RKG Discord, there was a spirited debate about whether déjà rêvé was real or not. I did not know what it was when “C” brought it up so I Googled. It’s similar to déjà vu in that it’s the feeling that what you’re experiencing is something you’ve dreamed before. C talked about how he’d experienced it all his life, and a few people immediately dismissed it as not possible and bunk. One in particular, “D” was quite rude about it as was her wont.
I see this happen so often. If someone can’t imagine something, then it can’t be true. I am the opposite because I am so deep in the weeds of being weird, I constantly have to accept that my lived truth is not everyone else’s. I mentioned this about empathy a few posts ago, by the way. People really, really, really don’t like any hint that they are not as empathetic and/or intelligent as other people.
In this case, I easily accepted what C said because I had similar things happen to me. Not in terms of dreaming, but because there are times I can predict what is going to happen. I don’t talk about it because I have nothing to back it up (though my mother firmly believed I could make things happen because I would call them out before they happened.
C made it clear that he would dream things and then they would happen later. D kept saying it wasn’t possible. Someone else insinuated that he (C) just thought it was happening. The way D was so absolute about her belief that it just could not possibly be true was fascinating when viewed from a distance. I know it’s not unusual, but I rarely see it in such a discrete/concrete fashion.
The reason I’m pointing this out is that what happened to me is not possible, either, apparently. Or at least I cannot find someone else it’s happened to. When I tell medical people what happened to me, I inevitably hear that I’m a miracle.
Here’s an example. After I left the hospital, I had a nurse come once a week to check up on me. One time, the nurse could not get the system they use to work. She asked me what happened to me, and I gave her the quick summary (walking non-COVID-related pneumonia, two sudden cardiac arrests, and a stroke). She typed it all in and then went on with the checklist. She quickly read out the symptoms/situations and said no, no, no, and then said heart surgery, yes. I was half-listening, but sat up when I heard that. I said I hadn’t had heart surgery, and she made me repeat that. I said I did not have heart surgery; I just had an angiogram (which turned out fine).