Dreams, mine anyway, seem more detailed than reality, but trying to recall them is like waves wiping away tracks in the sand. So much disappears in the haze of memory.
I was scheduled for surgery, was with M. in a facility for the procedure. We wended our way through a maze of hallways and rooms until we arrived at the designated location. It was just a small square room. The doctor entered, a mild-looking man probably of lower middle age. He spoke to us, mostly to M. He would sing in between his discussions, semi-classical tunes as I recall, and he sang quite loudly.
When the nurse came in to check status, etc., she said there was a problem. The procedure had been canceled, and could not be rescheduled for this day. It seems when the confirmation call was sent, to M's house, the call was answered by a quite young Samantha W. , who had meant to confirm, but mistakenly cancelled. She felt bad, finding out, but she was just a child. Rescheduling meant working around other issues, but would resume in future.
As M. and I left the facility, we saw the doctor seated at the lunch table, with a doctor of another ethnicity. "Our" doctor was singing, out loud.
