Dreams Don’t Lie

Deep within, there is something profoundly known, not consciously, but subconsciously. A quiet truth, that is not a version of something, but an original knowing.

~T.F. Hodge

I woke up breathing hard, my heart beating fast. It took me a moment to realize where I was — facedown in my bed. I tried to move my arms or legs, but nothing was possible. I was paralyzed, helpless, unable to rise up or push up.

A large woman was sprawled on top of me, holding me down, crushing me. As hard as I tried, her weight was too much to overcome.

Slowly, I transitioned to reality. In fact, I could move, and I was alone in bed. I tested my extremities and could move all of them, even push up. I rolled over, caught my breath, and thought about what had just happened. Was this a warning? Was my dream trying to tell me something?

My apartment had two smoke detectors but no carbon-monoxide alert. My earlier rapid breathing got me thinking that maybe there was carbon monoxide in the air and my dream was warning me. Perhaps my subconscious mind could detect the invisible threat.

I shut off the air conditioning. I didn’t believe it was the source of carbon monoxide, but I wasn’t thinking rationally. I opened the apartment door to the courtyard, listening for a motor that I thought I had heard earlier. Perhaps somebody was using some kind of equipment and it was creating a threat for my neighbors and me. But all was calm — except me.

I never got back to sleep that morning.

Six weeks later, I had another strange dream.

I was swimming beneath the surface of a mucky pond. I could see lily pads above me as I tried hard to reach them. I wasn’t panicking that I would run out of air, but I knew I had to reach the surface. It was only a matter of time before it would become critical. No matter how hard I swam, I wasn’t making progress, and I knew I was using up my air quickly. Fish and other creatures were swimming normally around me. But despite my efforts, I remained in place, a couple of feet underwater.

Once again, I awoke gasping for air, facedown in my pillow. I turned and was able to return to normal breathing quickly, disturbed, but relieved that I was recovering.

I often remember bits and snatches of dreams, but it’s rare that I remember the entire thing. That night, when I happened to be talking to my daughter Alison on the phone, I described this latest dream to her. She laughed at how odd it was but was sympathetic.

She asked if I still snore, and I told her I’d been told I do. She said her husband snored regularly until he got tested for sleep apnea. She encouraged me to get evaluated, too. This wasn’t the first time Alison suggested I get tested, but I had always downplayed the need. This time, it seemed more relevant. I figured it couldn’t hurt.

During my appointment with my primary-care provider, I told him about my long history of snoring, and he arranged for me to be evaluated for sleep apnea. It took a while to obtain results, but I definitely suffered from it, so the specialist prescribed treatment.

That night, I let my daughter know the conclusion. She said she suspected as much. She also asked if I had told the doctor about my dreams. I said, “No, my history of snoring and restless nights was enough to convince him. Besides, I felt stupid for waiting for my subconscious to tell me what’s going on with my body.”

— Stephen Schwei —