1/30/18
Had a dream where I was driving home from UMD. For some reason, 95 was shut down by a republican convention of some sort. All traffic had to go to BWI, where I had to pay for a plane to take me home. It was one of the GOP's usual schemes to pay back one of their big campaign backers (airline industry I guess), and all of the big names were there from Washington, notably Mitch McConnell and Rick Santorum, who were there directing traffic and handing out campaign flyers. Rick Santorum was very nice in helping me fill out the correct form for entry into the airport.
I was navigating through BWI, which was totally different from the way it is IRL. I didn't know where anything was, so I was just rolling through the huge sprawl looking for the ticket booth. About an hour into my search, I realized that I wouldn't be able to get my car home, and that I should just drive around the stretch of 95 that was shut down. So I turned around and started heading back to where my car was parked.
At some point in my journey, my foot fell off of the footplate on my wheelchair. However, I didn't notice it until I was almost back at my car, so my foot was worn down to the bone like an old pencil eraser. I didn't feel comfortable rolling around like that, so I reasoned that I should probably get medical help, even if I couldn't feel it anyway. I went looking for an ambulance (kind of like how you hail a cab), but couldn't find one. At some point during this search, because I was favoring my other leg, I tore my right bicep (yes, I meant to say bicep). So at this point, with injuries mounting, I figured I should just call 911 and have them handle it.
After calling 911, I then decided to wait in the food court area, where I tried to take some napkins to absorb the blood coming out of my foot, but they had a very strict policy on their napkins, so I could only take a couple after much negotiation with some random cashier. At the food court, I ran into some old friends from auto shop class (Bobby, Sean, Tony) and we caught up on things. Bobby and Tony were living normal lives, but Sean had become a drug addict who was big into the music scene. We also talked some shit. Sean thought it'd be a funny joke to pour hot sauce in my eyes, which added another injury to the ever-growing list.
Finally medevac arrived, but instead of a helicopter, it was a jet plane. I thought this was absurd at first, but I talked myself into believing it made sense, since we were at an airport (idk how it eventually landed on the roof of the hospital though). They put me on a stretcher and loaded me into the plane in a very rough fashion. I was uncomfortably close to being vertical and falling out as they loaded me on. Also, they brought my wheelchair, but I didn't like how they didn't put the brakes on, so the wheelchair was just rolling around loose on the floor. Also, the door was open while we were flying, so my wheelchair could have just rolled right out of the plane, which further concerned me.
Eventually I made it to the hospital, where the surgeon give me some emergency eye-wash for my hot-sauce eyes, bandaged up my foot, and sutured up my bicep.