The Lessons Life Teaches, A Collection of Short Stories.

The Dream

I have always had many dreams. Most are just fragmented or convoluted. But for years I have had this same reoccurring dream. I say it is the same, but it is evolving as the story unfolds. I am even hesitant to put it in writing as I don't think the story is complete.

In the dream I am a young doctor fresh out of medical school. My first real assignment is patient care at the old Veteran's hospital in Phoenix, Arizona. I suppose my brain picks this place because when I was young my mother took me there. I remember the manicured lawns and mature trees, the long driveways, and the gray multistory box like building of the hospital. I never got to go inside but waited in the car when she visited an old family friend. This was some 55 years ago or more. Checking Google Earth, the old hospital and lawns at 7th Street and Indian School Road are no longer. They have all be replaced with more modern buildings.

In my dream I walk down the long hallway to the second floor to the nurses' station. I introduce myself to the nurses at the desk and say I have been assigned to be the third-floor doctor in charge of patient care on the graveyard shift. They treat me rather matter of fact as if they must break in another doctor. Then one nurse introduces herself as Doris. She says she is the head night nurse for the third floor. Then asks if I would like to examine the patients. I say yes and then follow her from room to room. Many of the patients are older veterans who are shells of the young vibrant men they once were. We go from room to room with little to note.

As time goes by, occasionally a shadow catches my attention, or a movement is seen out of the corner of my eye. The rooms are dark and drab with no bright colors and no paintings on the walls. Time passes and many a long night is spent on the floor walking from room to room checking on the condition of the patients. Through time the shadows clarify to my sight. Then one night I have the realization that the shadows along the walls are, lacking a better description, spirits of soldiers. They are sitting, crouching, or standing all with their backs to the wall looking expressionless toward the patient in the room. Now that my vision has become clearer, all of the rooms have soldiers waiting along the walls of the rooms. Always on one side that has the window to the outside. Some rooms have as many as ten soldiers and some rooms only a few. None of the soldiers ever acknowledge my presence even when I looks directly at them and ask if there is anything, I can do to help them. One night when it is slower than usual, I ask Doris if she ever notices anything strange when she works here. She says no and asks why. Not to appear to be crazy I respond "No reason. I was just wondering." All the soldiers are in uniform with the ages ranging from younger to more mature to aged. They all have a stoic expression and never acknowledge my presence even when I speak to them directly. Occasionally I am caught by the nurses when I am attempting to communicate with a spirit, and they ask who I am talking to. I just respond "myself". As time passes the faces come into sharper focus. There is a certain agony in the faces that only comes to a person who has known tragedy. I now recognize the various spirits and understand they remain the same even as patients come and go. I notice that when a patient passes away in the room, his spirit takes his place with the other soldiers in the room. I begin to worry about my own sanity as night after night, room after room I see things that no one else does. I wonder why I am the only one who sees these spirit sentries.

One night on a long shift I enter a room and notice a new face standing against the wall. Someone who has not been there before as either a patient or spirit. He is a well-dressed younger lieutenant. As I walk past him, I say "Welcome I have not seen you before. If there is anything, I can do to help you please let me know." To my surprise he turns toward me, and his eyes focus on mine. Then he says "So, you can see us." I look deep into his eyes and say "Yes, yes I can. My name is Dan." Just then the nurse walks in and says, "Are you talking to me?" I say "No" and look back toward the lieutenant who is now gone. A day or so goes by with no sign of the spirit who communicated with me. The patient who was in the room is very ill and has been there for some time. All the other soldier spirits in the room remain. They are sharper to the view at night and then like the stars in the sky fade from view during the day. Later in the week while standing at the nurses' station I see the lieutenant walking down the hallway toward me. He walks up and says your patient in room 210 needs you now. I notice that I am the only one who sees him. I walk quickly to check on the older patient in room 210 and find him going into cardiac arrest. After some intense moments, his heart is stabilized, and he is taken to ICU for more intensive care. I look around but the lieutenant is nowhere to be found. So, into space I say "Thank you" hoping he might just hear me and know I am grateful for his help.

The next day I stopped by ICU to check on the older, quite personable, patient to see how he is holding up. I enter his room and see he is doing much better. In conversation he thanks me for saving his life. His wife is with him and she is also grateful. It warms my heart to know that I made a difference. In conversation, the patient says "you know my father died young. He was a lieutenant on the USS Arizona. He died during the invasion on Pearl Harbor Day." I reply with confidence, but no explanation, "He must love you very much." On the way out of the room, I hear the older vet's wife say "Strange how he said that. Like your father is still here."