I am awake but in a hospital bed in "my" room. I have a small ceramic bowl with lots of little things in it. It keeps slipping and stuff falls out on the bed. Then Bonnie comes in and gets on the bed. I'm a bit annoyed because its very early in the morning. I toss a small ceramic "angel" at her. Here, I say, a gift. She says Oh, God! In frustration. It was such a graceless act of giving. Off handed. I just wanted to get rid of it. She goes into the bathroom and comes back. She's crying and exhausted. She says I just can't go to work now. It's so stressful. I say something empathetic, but I don't really mean it. She's in my space and I'm tired too. She says I'm worried. I may have cancer. I say me too. I'm worried I have cancer too, with all the things that have been going wrong lately. Then a young woman like Anastasia's ex friend comes in, only she's nice. She starts rearranging my room, putting up a partition and posters and decorations. What's going on I ask. She says we're celebrating the success of a poet. Some man. In my room? I ask. She cheerfully continues. I feel a bit jealous of this successful poet. Maybe he'll like me. I get up, exhausted. I return to find the whole place changed. I open a door and find the poet unpacking. Oh, it's you, I say. He looks vaguely familiar. I go back to my bedroom and see its all a party room. I look in another room to see my bed in a little alcove, with a pretty white cotton crocheted bedspread. I look at the bed. Very pretty, but no room for my wheelchair to pull up to the side.