I was kind of reluctant to write about this but now it seems there is not much choice. I believe some of you know that I get messages in my dreams about things to come, which is the main reason why I'm writing a book about the topic.
From dreaming about losing Caramella, my late Cocker Spaniel, many times before I found out she was sick and had to be put down. To waking up in the middle of the night wide-eyed and uneasy to find out that my aunt is in the hospital in Egypt, thousands of miles away, before she passed a few hours later; to dreaming of the cat of a Facebook friend of mine right after he passed and you can read about it Here.
So, obviously something is going on. More weird things are left for the book.
About a month ago, I saw myself being in an accident involving a car. I really ‘felt’ it. And knowing about those visions coming true sometimes, I was somewhat concerned about what might happen, even a little distressed, one could say. I brushed it off by trying to convince myself that I cannot fear my own visions. Because, that would be insane.
A couple of weeks later, I was on the bike coming back from Santa Monica to Venice. As I was crossing the street at an intersection, two cars hit each other but it was nothing big. The tail light of one of the cars fell to the ground, so I left my bike, ran and picked it up. During that time, the driver, a 60-something-year old man, was already out of his Mercedes and talking to the driver of the other car that hit him. I asked if he was alright and helped him put the light in the trunk. And that was that.
As I was back on my way, I naturally thought of the dream. I thought that that was it. However, an intuitive feeling deep inside was telling me that it wasn’t it. The reason of this gut feeling, I believe, is that in my vision I was much more involved in the accident. As I said, I could sense the chaos and the commotion. But again, I brushed it off ― trying to convince myself that this accident I witnessed must have been it.
Today morning, I was riding my bike on the pavement minding my own business. A car came out of the intersection where there is a Stop sign. The driver only looked left as he slowed down by the sign since this is where the cars are coming from on Venice Boulevard. Then he kept going trying to make a right turn. I was already right in front of him and saw it all in slow motion. He hit me and I flew and hit the ground.
I got up slowly, checked my bones and head, and realized I was alive, not broken and breathing. That was a relief and I stayed calm throughout it all. I was dripping some blood from my face, hands, and legs, but nothing too crazy. The driver had already parked his car and came down to check on me. I asked him for tissues, he got me some and a bottle of water and I cleaned up my wounds for a good ten minutes.
At some point, the 40-year-old man realized that something was wrong with my bike. He hit the front wheel and it’s bent so it’s very hard to move it. Hm, that was another bummer, I’m two miles away from home.
“You were pretty fast,” he decided to tell me.
“Uh, you didn’t look to your right at all,” I responded with some kind of grimace on my smashed face.
I think he tried to say something again to defend himself, but I automatically shut him off again, politely.
Then, I let him go and went on my way. I tried biking back but it was hard to move with that bent tire. So I walked to the local bike repair shop next to the house and found out that a new front wheel need to be bought for $45. Bla.
As I was telling the bike guy the story, he told me that as a biker I have every right to call the cops on the guy and make him pay for the damages. Well, too late now. Money wasn't really the first thing I thought of after getting up.
However, knowing that my phone was just stolen from me two days ago at the Drum Circle, I really felt kind of gullible. Though I snapped out of it as the would haves and the should haves never really help. I’m grateful that it could have been much worse, learned a lesson, and moving on.
Once the bike was fixed I finally went home to shower and clean my wounds. A couple of hours went by and the pain was starting to be annoying. I consider myself a tough guy who deals, but the cuts were too many and there was aching in other parts of the body, probably from the fall. I also know the pain will worsen the next few days. Having been clean for years now, I don’t even happen to carry pain killers around. Bret, my bungalow mate, is away, so I can't even ask him for any.
My buddy called me to check up on me. He had his fair share with Emergency Rooms here in the U.S, so I asked him. He suggested I go and they will handle me. I Googled and found that the closest is at the Marina Del Rey Hospital and is two miles away ― 13 minutes by bike. I wanted to double check there is nothing in Venice so I asked some homeless people in the street. The men suggested I call 911 to ask them and I did that. They first asked if I needed paramedics, to which I replied no and asked them my question. They confirmed that the closest is indeed in Marina as Google has shown.
I biked to there despite the pain in my left knee and finally got to the ER where I filled some applications. They asked if I have S.S number or insurance, I said no.
I think because of my bloody face and hand, a minute later they called my name and I went in with some nurse. She asked a few questions about what had happened and took me to this small compartment with a bed and gave me a gown to wear. She told me that they'll do a X-Ray on my head. Hm. OK. What a treat.
I remember being dehydrated and asking the nurse for the some water but she said after the X-Ray.
I was left on this bed for about 20 minutes then they came to relocate me to somewhere else. Moving me around on that wheeled bed really felt like a childhood flashback. Since the last time I was in such setting ― checking in in a hospital, the rolling bed, the gown ― I was 8-years old in South of France when I broke my arm in two separate places and had to keep six nails for a year. This is when it hit me: It’s been 30 long years of no hospitals, not bad at all.
Anyways, I was left again by the Emergency Room entrance for maybe two and a half hours.
Being there, I saw a few drug related cases coming in. Nothing catastrophic though. It was actually slightly entertaining for me. One guy came in on a bed with two firefighters and was nodding and repeatedly about to fall from one side of the bed. His eyes were rolling. One of the firefighters explained to the doctor that someone called them after finding him lying on the lawn somewhere. I looked at them and said with a smile: “Some mind of opiates”. They smiled back, nodding in agreement.
Another time, one of the doctor came and told me: “Thank you for being patient.”
“Well, I am a patient after all” was my instant reply.
He paused for a second then burst out laughing.
Only much later, the lady doctor came and asked me again the same questions. She checked my rib cage and back and concluded that I don't need an X-Ray. I was already bored from waiting and felt fine in my head, so I agreed. They finally put some lotions on my wounds and gave me a 5 mg Oxycodone and one Ibuprofen. Another half hour, they came with the prescriptions and the papers. Finally. You can read about what happened the next few days in Opiated Then Hatin’ It.
|The featured photo was taken right after, this one was a couple of days later when I was fully swolen|
“I'll be paying for the meds, right?” I asked to make sure there is no confusion.
“Yes, that’s something else at the pharmacy.”
“Then what is this? They put me some creams inside and that was it. I didn’t even have an X-Ray. I waited for four hours and that's all what happened,” I went on.
“Yes, this is how it is at the Emergency Room and blabala. You can pay later when we send the bill to your home, but it will be more than $400.”
“Uh. But why no one told me as I came in? If I knew about all this money, I would have left. I usually handle things myself, it just that I thought I’ll come here to clean my wounds and get some medicines. That’s all. Actually, I don't have this kind of money and I have to pay the rent in two days, so, really.” I proceeded.
“We cannot tell you that, we have to check-in everyone. Well, you can apply for I don’t know what temporary insurance, and if you’re eligible you don't have to pay. But there are no guarantees. They’ll call you tomorrow.”
Okaaay. Now even more, I think the driver must have covered these expenses.
Oh well, back to dreaming about that accident ― my first in six years since I have been mainly biking. Until now, I haven’t told many people about this; simply, because It’s starting to feel ‘freaky’, for lack of a better word. But I am writing a book, which goes beyond just dreams.
So who’s sending these messages, if anyone? Could such dreams be omens for good fortune or disaster sent from beyond as many ancient civilisations believed? How can we break the code of time? What does it mean to be able to forsee the future? Can one use this gift to their favour?
Even though I came closer, but almost two years into my investigation and the above questions remain unanswered.
Opiated Then Hatin’ It