Sweet Dreams

Upon my return from Minnesota, I suppose an update it due. The doctor has me scheduled for tests, consultations, and follow-ups that may very well extend into 2008. The first set of those will begin in December, right before Christmas. I bet Mayo's a sight to see during the holidays. I'll let you know.

The neurologist I saw there, a one Dr. Kantarci, was the most direct person I've encountered in quite a while. He was completely no-nonsense. He wanted only precise and direct answers...and as any of you know that is the farthest thing from what I typically give. The beginning of the appointment was difficult, but I adjusted and gave him the type of answers he wanted. I'm not sure, after it was all said and done, that I actually said enough. But he spent 2 hours with me at any rate. One really neat part of the appointment was the end. As he finished, he told me he was going to dictate his notes so that I could heart them. And that's what he did...I got to hear him dictate his notes. Never in all my years around medical doctors have I ever heard any of them dictate his or her notes on me. He simply "told me what he thought" while talking into a phone receiver, which doubled as a recording device. It saved time...but it was weird to hear him referring to me as "she, her, or the patient" while I was sitting right in front of him. (At one point he even called me "Kathy"...there is no "h" people, no "h.")

This doctor is of the opinion that most of, if not all of my physical symptoms, might be caused be a sleep disorder. So he's ordered a sleep study to figure out if my quality of sleep might be at fault for the chaos in my body. During the appointment I mentioned something to him that I didn't really connect to the cause of these crazy symptoms I've been having.
"What's been waking you up?" asked the Dr.
"I don't know, I tend to go right back to sleep. I don't dream, or remember them anyway, so I know it's not bad dreams." I stated.
"Okay." Doc said as he wrote something down.

I didn't think on that much until later, when my dad asked me if I had told the doctor I couldn't remember the last time I had a dream. My dad and I started a small dialogue on the subject and I told him this: I know I dream. Sometimes. I don't think I dream often though. I remember dreams I had as a child as vividly as I see your face...well, one of them anyway. I could tell you all the dreams I've had in the last ten years, probably in less than an hour. I dream, but maybe not enough?

That night I had a dream about Colin Powell, proving the point that I dream vividly. I met him in three places in the White House to give him three things and then had the knowledge that I was to be responsible for his children, whom I never saw.

I know very little about politics, and care little about them too. I know who Colin Powell is, but ac tally had to even look up how to spell his first name for this post. I don't even know if he has kids. Therefore I maintain that Colin Powell was a very odd person to have in my dream.

What this proved, in the morning, is my point that I do dream. So what's wrong with my dreaming patterns? The theory that I haven't been sleeping well for the last ten years could prove to be a strange journey if they can explain and correct this issue of absent dreams. I can't remember the last time I had a sweet dream...it would be nice to have the phrase mean something when it's uttered.