Yesterday and today

You wake up early, long before dawn. 

You turn onto your right towards the open window. Only, there is no window. 

You think you are in a dream still. 

You get up - in a dream? You want to go out into the hall but there is no hall. Not where you think it should be. 

You hold onto a door frame and you cry out, where am I? Can someone wake me up?
Then you collapse. 

You are dimly aware of the sound of vomiting, the jolly voices of the paramedics, hi what are you up to so early?
You are asked to open your eyes and you briefly try to concentrate on what maybe is the face of a tanned young doctor with long dark curls floating around her face. But everything is turning turning turning. Faster and faster and your head wants to explode with a roaring pressure. 
You can feel a soft rain falling on your face as you lie curled up somewhere outside on a stretcher. You try to apologize to the jolly paramedics for vomiting all the way to the hospital.
You can hear R somewhere in a distance and of course you start to worry that he will be late for work but the world has lost all boundaries and for a short moment you feel the excellent beauty of floating and you let go of any striving. 

You close your eyes and all is amazingly and exeptionally as it should be.
Many hours later you open your eyes again to the tedious and sterile reality of a hospital room. 

You watch the cortisone dripping slowly into your vein and you know you are in for the long haul.