This isn't really a history posting. It was written solely to satisfy the terms of an ill-advised contract. However, since it is a piece about something (a dream) that happened to me in the past, even though it was only one day ago, I suppose that technically it does qualify.
I dreamt I was visiting a large wilderness area. I was at the a ranger station, and in conversation with the park employees, it came up that I was a cyclist. They invited me to go behind the station, where a park service employee was moonlighting as a bicycle repairman.
What roads there were didn't seem worth cycling on, and I hadn't noticed any biking trails. So I was surprised that it would be worth it to have a bicycle repair service out there. I decided to check it out.
I went out back, and there he was. The bike guy was done fixing bikes for the day, and was now on his laptop. The ancient machine was hooked up to a huge car battery and inverter. A cable connected the laptop to his mobile phone, apparently for Internet access. I was surprised there was mobile phone reception here in the middle of nowhere, but I was glad for him.
As I approached, I saw that the part-time bicycle repairman was visiting a website which facilitated business between students and ghostwriters who did their homework assignments for a fee. I could see that he had just finished uploading a term paper, and was selling it for $20. It was a paper he had written when he was in school, and he'd gotten a good grade on it. Now he was recycling it for some cash.
(How I could see this from a distance as I approached, particularly in the sunshine outdoors, I don't know. Apparently my vision is better in dreams.)
My thoughts were:
- It's terrible that he's helping students cheat.
- Only $20 for a term paper? What's up with that?
I was kind of disgusted, and turned away without speaking to him. (Let the record show that I was more repulsed by the cheating than by the low wages paid to the writers.)
As I stepped back into the ranger station, a felt a twinge of pain in my leg, and winced. "What's wrong?" my wife asked. "Just a little pain in my leg. I'm sure it will go away," I responded.
A park employee standing nearby stepped over and said "Excuse me, sir, I couldn't help overhearing that you hurt your leg. I'm a physician; perhaps I can help."
"Oh, it's just a momentary thing. I'm sure it will pass quickly. But thanks for your concern."
"Do you mind if I take a look? It'll only take a moment."
"Well, OK."
The guy quickly examined my leg as we stood inside the doorway to the ranger station. I didn't exactly expect the ranger station to have a patient examining room, but this seemed oddly informal. Plus, what he was doing looked more like a tailor measuring me for trousers than a physician performing an exam. Still, he acted as if he knew what he was doing.
After a couple of minutes he said, "Sir, I'm afraid this is serious. You're going to need an operation."
I was skeptical. "I really appreciate your help. I'll be sure to contact my primary care provider when I get back home."
"Sir, you don't understand. You need an operation RIGHT NOW! But I can have you on the station's operating table, prepped and ready, within half an hour."
"What??"
"Of course, we'll be sure to get an MRI to confirm my diagnosis before we operate. But I'm certain I'm right."
"An MRI? How can you get an MRI within half an hour?"
"By using our MRI machine."
"You have an MRI machine out here?" And I thought to myself, if they have an MRI machine, then why does the bicycle guy need to use a car battery to power his laptop? If they have an MRI machine, they must have some pretty serious electrical service.
"Yes, of course. I'll just run along and alert the MRI technician to get ready, and then I'll start prepping the operating theater."
He ran off before I realized that he hadn't given me any details about his diagnosis.
I was stunned. But at least I had a few minutes to think things over.
My wife said she'd leave me in peace while I was pondering, and take the opportunity to get some exercise. The surprisingly large station had a circular corridor along the circumference of the building, so she proceeded to run laps in the corridor. (This was the only realistic part of the dream.)
As my wife approached on one of her laps, a very small girl - she couldn't have been more than 2 years old - materialized from nowhere and sprinted awkwardly across the corridor. She smashed into Tammy's side, knocking them both to the floor.
Tammy got up immediately, and I knew she was OK. But the little girl was lying on her back on the floor. She was still for a second or two, and then said calmly, "I think my neck is broken".
I was horrified. I was more inclined to believe the two-year-old's self-diagnosis than I was to believe the alleged physician's diagnosis of my leg. But though the girl seemed to qualify as a medical prodigy by even knowing about the concept of a broken neck at her age, was she really in a position to accurately diagnose the situation?
Fortunately, before I could decide whether it would be wise to have the dubious doctor/tailor take a look at her, I woke up.
The End.
Fear not - the next posting will be a more traditional history article.
