dreams – Page 30 – One Woman's Quest

Shaken

The year my second daughter was born, it seemed to rain eternally. I can’t say when the depression set in, but by February, I didn’t want to leave the house. I prayed a lot to God, asking what was wrong with me. By all accounts, I had everything anyone could want: two beautiful children, a brand new home, friends and community. The more I tried to rationalize, the greater my gloom. Is there more to life than this? I asked.

During this time I had a recurring dream, in which I visited my childhood home:

I walk in the front door and notice that the carpet leading upstairs has been changed to one with geometric designs, and that the once blue carpet in the living and dining area is now red. Upstairs, I see that one of the walls in my sister’s old room has been bricked over. As I pass through the house, the inhabitants are unaware of my presence. Only the family cat swishes her tail in annoyance at my presence. Stepping out the backdoor, I fail to see that the step is missing, and fall, jolting myself awake.

Haunted by the dream’s insistence, I decided to drive by my old home. A “for sale” sign on the front lawn revealed that this day was open for agent viewing. Curious, I walked in. A quick glanced revealed red carpets throughout, with a geometric pattern running up the stairs. I rushed up the stairs and down the hall, where I found the room with the bricked wall. How odd! Descending the staircase, I glanced at the photos on the wall to see the faces from my dreams staring out at me. In the kitchen, I spotted the cat’s bowls. The agent on duty asked me if I wanted to see the back yard. Remembering my dreams, I said no and made my exit back through the front door.

I drove a block before the trembling hit me. Shaken, I pulled over. What had just happened? The house was exactly as I had dreamed it. But why? Everything suddenly seemed so surreal. What did it all mean?

I felt as if I had just been hit over the head with a giant frying pan. For months on end I had prayed to God and asked if there was something I was missing in my life, and now this. I decided that God had answered my prayers, with one resounding “YES!”. There was obviously more to life than what I was experiencing, but I would need to look within to find it.

Needless to say, that day changed my life.

Creativity and Self Definition

I dream that I am walking across an open field. The landscape is barren, and dry, and a wind storm is whipping up, with low menacing clouds. I am headed to the farm, where I raised my children, and where my ex-husband still lives. I am living in the city, in the basement of a raised ranch with hand-me-down furniture. While the apartment is bright, because of the high windows, it is still a basement. I am walking against the weather, despite the weather, because I want to finally settle something with my ex; call a truce. He is processing wood – putting it through a machine and creating little piles of wood chips and lots of sawdust in his large open shop. He keeps working and ignores my presence. My mother arrives in a car and has a present for him. My older sisters show up also. They are in the main house primping, and trying to show me how to make myself more attractive. I just want to clear the air, but there are too many distractions.

I always say that creativity is the process by which we define and then express ourself. In the dream, I am influenced by the women in my family, the inclement weather, and an ex-spouse who is preoccupied. I chuckle at the dream’s image of my older sisters preening, as growing up it was impossible to find a mirror that was not taken over by one of my sisters. It was part of the reason I chose to be a tomboy; it was easier than trying to get bathroom time for grooming.

In my family, women were expected to be pretty, under educated, and submissive to men. My older sisters were both beautiful, and took secretarial skills at school, leaving after grade 11, so they could get a job and find a man. I did not fit this mold. Taking after my father in looks, I had a receding chin, and wore glasses. I was also ‘gifted’ and aspired towards a university degree. I was outspoken and pro women’s lib. My mother told me daily that no one would ever love me; she worried about my future. I felt my mother’s legacy fulfilling itself, when my second, and former husband told me he had never loved me after seventeen years together. I left that marriage believing that I was unlovable.

I thought I had worked through all that. I am in a relationship now with a husband who constantly demonstrates his love for me. So why, in my dreams am I going over old territory? And what does this have to do with creativity?

Maybe the dream is reminding me that if we define ourselves within the context of our environment, then we are limited. If we are to expand our sense of self, we must be able to see beyond the landscape of our past. In terms of health, my mother has had numerous issues, including three rounds of cancer; my oldest sister suffered illness all her life; and my next older sister is debilitated by schizophrenia. None of them escaped the limitations of victimhood to experience either successful careers or relationships.

I believe that the purpose of dreams is always to bring positive movement in our lives. This one left me feeling hopeless, unwanted, unseen or heard – much like my childhood. I need to envision a new reality for myself. I need to create new possibilities instead of searching and re-searching the experiences that will never serve to define me as anything less than inadequate.

(Image: wallpapers-kid.com)

The Beginning

An image from my dreams has been haunting me for some time, mostly due to its oddity. The image is of my chest, with nipples akimbo. Why would I dream such a thing? I could not fathom the answer, but I did become self conscious afterwards, always checking myself before going out. I saw a woman once who had nipples so misaligned that it was hard not to notice. I was afraid to ask, but judging by her general physique and character, I assumed it was a breast enhancement that went terribly wrong. That would not apply to me. I have no cosmetic surgery in my past, present, or future.

Then last night, after waking out a deep sleep with heart pounding and a burning thirst, I caught sight of myself in the mirror, and what should I see, but one nipple pointing north west and the other lost in orbit – my dream image! So was my dream a premonition? If so, what was the message?

December 13th I had a lumpectomy. In late June, my doctor sent me for a mammogram, after noticing it had been many years since the last one. Not long after the routine examination, I received a recall notice.

“Don’t worry”, the message said, “in 9 out of 10 women, it is nothing.”

I assumed it was related to the length of time since my last one. No real borderline for comparison. Re-examination day came. They wanted to do two procedures: a spot screening and an ultrasound. Unlike my first visit, which was in and out in a surprisingly short period of time, I found myself waiting and waiting after the initial procedure.

I asked if they had forgotten me. A nurse assured me they had not. Instead, she invited me into a private room and handed me a pamphlet.

“We would like to do a biopsy.”

There was something about calcification, but it was unexpected and so I didn’t ask any questions. Never a fan of needles, the thought of having my breast punctured overwhelmed me.

One of my professed philosophies is don’t worry until there is something to worry about. The threat of a sharp object invading my delicate area was real and immediate. I worried about that. The appointment was scheduled for two weeks down the road.

My daughter was due to give birth any moment. I worried about not being there for her.

A cancellation four days later, saw me headed for biopsy without the time to fret.

“Your doctor will have the results in 10 days” I was told.

Two days later, my doctor advised me I needed to see a surgeon. She said the finding were “suspicious” and the area needed to come out. I would be seeing the surgeon on October 31st. Trick or treat.

I ran into a close friend who had been going through the same thing. Her doctor said they would just monitor her more closely. I liked that solution. I decided I would be a “wait and see” also.

In the meantime, I had a beautiful new granddaughter to occupy my thoughts, and I had just started a new job, at a new school.

Then in mid October, my beloved mother-in-law suffered another in a long line of health setbacks, and did not recover. She passed away on the 23rd of October, and we held a memorial “cocktail” party in her honour the following weekend.

By the time October 31st came along, I was physically exhausted, and emotionally spent.

My ‘wait and see’ approach was met with a chorus of “Absolutely not!” from both the surgeon and her resident. Nor was I to be allowed to put it off till summer vacation. December it would be.

“Any questions?”

I couldn’t think of one. My mind was flooded with concerns for work, Christmas, and our annual trip to Mexico. What would happen to all of those?

Try as I might, anxiety got the best of me. I threw myself into planning for Christmas, finishing up work, and cooking for post-surgery. I found myself becoming irrationally temperamental, losing patience easily, and tearing up without warning.

“It’s not like having a toothache,” my husband reassured me. “With a toothache, you call the dentist, and know what will happen. There is no certain outcome here. It is fear of the unknown.”

I wear a sports bra now, 24/7. It supports the area and helps with the healing. Without adjustment, it also pushes my breasts into awkward positions and creates an image similar to my dream.

So what was that all about? Did some part of me, with some warped sense of humour, try to warn me in advance? Was the intended message that this would be the worse to fear? Or that there are worse things to worry about than whether or not your breasts line up?