It wasn’t clear exactly how I knew, but somehow doctors had pinpointed that my heart was going to give up and I was going to die that day.
My mood, I suppose, could be best described as quiet and nervous.
I walked around mostly in a stupor, trying my best to interact with all of the people I saw on a daily basis who didn’t know, yet with this sunken feeling that any moment … any footstep or spoken word … could easily be my last.
I hadn’t told anyone because I didn’t want them to worry, and yet myself I was completely petrified at my fate. I wanted to tell the people that I loved, but how does a conversation like that even start?
As the day grew on and I grew wearier, I began to mention my results to a few people, who walked around announcing it more like an interesting factoid than something so personal.
“You know, Scott was supposed to die today, but he hasn’t yet.”
Though at first I just went about my day, eventually I slipped away and just quietly walked around, with each step almost feeling my heart rate increase and being deathly aware of not wanting to provoke it in any way.
Then I began to wonder how my life would change if it didn’t happen like it was supposed to.
I wanted to talk to my doctor for answers, and I wanted to talk to my wife.
At one point I ran into a guy who was like a knock off version of one of my old supervisors at work, which was kind of weird. He made a joke that wasn’t really funny, but was almost immediately forgotten.
I didn’t end up dying, and yet by the end of the dream it didn’t really feel like I was alive anymore, either.