I don’t often remember my dreams. But last night I had a memorable one.
I dreamt I was at some sort of healthcare center to get an abortion. (Which is odd because I have never had or sought an abortion in real life.)
The center was crowded, and I did not have an appointment, but I knew my name was on some kind of list, and I knew who I was supposed to meet with and what she looked like. I found a syringe full of someone else’s blood lying around, and had this idea that if I squirted it up my vagina, that the fetus would be aborted. I was caring the syringe of blood around with me, it was dripping all over the place, and I kept wiping it up with paper towels or whatever I could find.
So then I see the woman I’m supposed to meet with. She can’t seem to see or find me even though she is calling my name. I start following her around, with my drippy syringe, and follow her into a closed room where a bunch of people are sitting around a table.
A younger woman claims to be Me. The healthcare worker asks her to confirm her birthday. She gives a September birthday. Even though my birthday is not in September, I holler out that this is me, this is my birthday, and I’m the one she’s looking for. The younger woman says “fine,” and concedes.
The healthcare worker tells me that my plan with the syringe will not work to abort the baby, it will just give me a disease, potentially.
I wake up to the sound of my alarm at 6 AM, and my first thought is this is what healthcare will be like if Donald Trump gets elected for another term.