I go to the hospital to get surgery. I sit in the bed and see my mother and Grandma Mildred. I'm glad and surprised they came to be with me. Then, I see cousins, Marci and some small boys. I see Aunt Rosalie and Uncle Gus. At least I think it's him and wonder to myself, "If he was the one that abused me, wouldn't I know it by feeling bad or strange around him?" He and Rosalie are seated on the next hospital bed, Rosalie sitting up, and he relaxed and semi-reclining. I chat with the small boy cousins and ask their names. Then a nurse comes in to prep me and asks what meds I've taken. She then says, "You can't have your surgery today. You'll have to wait until tomorrow." The next day I'm going back to the hospital. Dwight is there and a small baby girl 1 and 1/2 or 2 years old. We are behind a marching band. I say, "We should hold her hand." Dwight holds her left hand and an older man in the band holds her right hand. I feel a little guilty that I don't hold her hand. We are holding up the last part of the parade and I suggest we drop back to the last place. We do. I suggest the man go on with the band and I hold her hand, but he wants to keep hold of her hand. As we walk down the hall, I ask Dwight how his litter of puppies are. "Which ones?" he says. "The really ugly ones with the wrinkled faces?" He says, "They're in the barn, doing OK." He'll sell them soon. I get into the hospital bed and the nurse comes to set up my IV.