I am in the hospital, in the waiting room of the new gynecologist. I went to the welcome open house early in the year. The waiting room is decorated with a wall with small shelves with air plants. Taken from their jungles. And at the open house, we could each take one home from a batch lying on a desk.
Mine is still alive.
But now in the waiting room, some of the air plants are in flames. This worries me. "Um, should those be burning?" I ask the receptionist.
"Oh, it's a controlled burn. They grow better after a burn."
I realize two days later that this is a dream, when I am thinking that controlled burns of jungles don't make much sense.
I called the gynecologist with a question. It turned out to be one of the "We don't know the answer to that" questions. I told her about the burning plants. She laughed, said, "I don't think they are on fire, but I'll tell reception to check." Then she thanked me for my referrals and my comprehensive notes. Which is classy since patients keep telling me that all sorts of people at the hospital, including some specialists, say that I'm "not in the system".