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Date Posted: 15:08:06 04/16/02 Tue
Author: Rita
Subject: The Great Dictator

The Great Dictator

Dream and Reality



During the month of March 2002 at night dreams would appear compiling the excuses used by the Michigan Medical Liars Society to deprive me the right to my more effective medicines. The excuses ranged from the 1908 evil Michigan doctor’s curse: “I’ll see you and your siblings sick and dead before I see you receive the 1908 BCG tuberculosis vaccine” to the prescription drug law that was used to withhold many antibiotics. The dream combined two subjects: Hubby’s 1983 Blood type identification and the lies about antitumor/antiviral antibiotics made from mutant germ cells.

As soon as I saw the words “antitumor/antiviral antibiotics”, I thought of Adriamycin, which symbolized the mutant strain of streptomyces peucetius called streptomyces peucetius var caesius, and the information on the mutant strain can be found at the medical library in Washington DC. The “mutant-germ dream-symbol” reflected that a germ cell had no brain. It was the human brain that permitted a brain-less cell life to prevail (it was known that all cells mutated since the beginning of time). So, when I hear that bacteria are smart, I think of the $169 that I paid to a drug prescriber in 1993 for a penicillin prescription so that I could take the penicillin prescription to the drug store to pay an additional $10 for a small amount of penicillin pills. Since 1993, I have had no Michigan MD/drug prescriber prescribe an antibiotic, even though my blood tests figures were abnormal. So when I hear that antibiotics were being over used, I think of Gentamicin Sulfate USP that was recommended on a 6-week protocol, knowing that it would drug over-dose halfway though the 6-week recommendation.

All of a sudden the dream’s narrator asked, “What is the last thing that you would like to do before leaving the earth?”

I could hear my dreamself reply that I wished that I could write a musical play before death. In reality, I never wrote a play and I know nothing about music.

The thoughts swirled. The musical play should be fashioned after Charlie Chaplin and titled “The Great Dictator”; the plot would be that lies and greed have been known to destroy complete counties and civilizations. The medical lies that deprived me my right to my more effective medicines would lead to the destruction of country (United States), God, and truth. Every medical liar that would murder my husband and me would also kill others.

The dream-scene changed to a brightly lit room. I looked around and saw myself again sitting inside a hospital waiting for a friend. I knew that it was a dream because of the large window on the left wall that over-looked the hospital parking lot.

To the right of the window was a reception desk. I could see my dreamself get up and walk to the receptionist. I placed the 1983 Blood Type Identification card on the desk, asking: “This blood test was done here and I would like to know its point of origination. Who do I ask?”

I wasn’t happy with the reply (I can’t remember it), so I placed a tape recorder next to the Blood Type Identification Card, saying, “I’m trying out for a musical play.”

I stretched my left arm with palms up in the direction of the parking lot; a place where angels had first appeared in 1994. The four angels were flying in a circle and singing what I had called “The Carousel Song”.

The thought was interrupted when I remembered reading the angels appearing at the writer’s workshop and spelling the word “Carousel” wrong. I think that I have it spelt right now, so I should use that tune as the introduction song.

The angel sang in harmony: “Gather the feathers and keys, you know what I mean!”

I remembered standing in the hospital parking lot, as I looked around and all I found were paper wraps and bottle caps. I couldn’t understand what the angels were saying, so I replied, “No, no, I know not what you mean!”

One angel sang a verse, “It’s because He loves you, and He will tell you this, ‘Gather the feathers and keys’.”

The second angel sang, “It’s because we love you, we will show you the way.”

A third angel flew in the direction of the hospital to gather a newly deceased soul and threw the dead soul upon the stack of all ready dead that lingered where they had died!

The fourth angel then sang: “It’s because they love you, they will tell you true!”

The play’s music had a different tune. So I had to point to my other hand, calling it “my other left hand.”

I found myself awkwardly stumbling on my other left foot, while pointing to my other left hand, saying the tune changes from a light-fluffy-merry-go-round song to a God’s foot-stomping beat with the words of a lying deed: “I am God damn God damn I am the Prince of Lies; I have the right to drug over-dose, to medically murder, every man, woman, and child who walk through my doors!”

At that moment, a hospital guard appeared. I explained that I was trying out for a musical play, while waiting for a friend.

The words became smudgy.

Then I could hear myself say, “I could take my play outside into the parking lot. My friend has no other ride home but via me!”

The dream’s narrator suggested: “When the Déjà vu appears, write only the hospital staff names, and bring a tape recorder.”

In the dream, a tape recorder appeared. As I stared at the recorder, I could hear my friend’s voice saying, “Will you stop babbling, and drive me out of here!”

I woke from the dream to enter a reality situation, which was as follows:

On April 4, 2002, my friend, who I will call Charlie Chaplin, had an appointment for a colonoscopy-possible biopsy/polypectony/cautery, and Charlie asked me to drive her to and from the hospital. In layman language, I would call Charlie’s appointment an “Asshole test.”

A hospital employee named Artis asked a lengthy list of health questions. It was obvious that Charlie needed her medical records or a friend to assist with the lengthy answers.

It surprised me when Charlie asked for antibiotics. I quickly remembered two of her previous tests. First, her 1994 breast tumor biopsy when the specialists told Charlie that “no antibiotics” were needed when running a needle into her three times (twice were done in error). Then in December 1998, Charlie had a brain scan. Short after the test, Charlie’s doctor prescribed a drug, which contained no antibiotic ingredient. Charlie had a reaction that almost killed her. The doctor told Charlie that she was the first person that he had heard of having a reaction. “You want antibiotics,” I questioned Charlie.

“That’s right,” Charlie uttered, as she remembered that her 1994 breast biopsy was labeled okay. Charlie continued to say, “Since then, it was discovered that I have a mitrao-prolaps-heart-valve and I need antibiotics prior to any healthcare procedure. They may have messed me up back then, but what can you do about it?”

“Well,” I replied, “it was known in 1994 that the newer antibiotics were filled with e.coli. When I was going to the Writer’s Workshop, we used to joke about putting your head inside a toilet calling it a Michigan antibiotic treatment! So, I would recommend that you ask what kind of antibiotics are being used?”

The antibiotic choices were Gentamicin Sulfate and Ampicillin. Charlie remembered that my husband was Gentamicin Sulfate drug over-dosed in 1996, and she asked, “Are they going to drug over-dose me?”

“No,” I replied, “according to the Mississippi nurse, the Gentamicin Sulfate can be used for 10-12 days. It’s the Michigan approval to use it on a 6-week protocol that legalized the prescription-drug-over-dosing.”

As Artis told Charlie to roll over for a butt-needle-shot, Charlie told me to turn around. Artis turned to me, asking, “Do you pass out at the sight of a needle?”

“No,” I replied, “I never seen Charlie’s butt and she doesn’t want me to see her butt now!”

Charlie was wheeled to the butt-test.

I walked outside with all the collected 1994 toys that the angels had dropped into the parking lot. The toys were gathered during cancer/blood test lies that were taking place in 1994. Now, I was throwing all the gathered toys (Horn, Harp, etc) back into the hospital parking lot. A voice called down, saying, “Ask your drug prescriber for a tube of Streptomycin.”

I saw a hospital pharmacy sign, so I walked inside with the intension of purchasing a tube of Streptomycin ointment. When I entered the pharmacy, I had forgotten my mission. I didn’t even perceive the recorder symbol as an item to be used in reality to have the hospital pharmacy employee explain my right to any antibiotics in any form. I had two items with me: the recorder and Hubby’s 1983 established blood test to be used prior to any blood transfusions. I asked about the 1983 Blood Type Identification point of origin. The reply was to check the Internet.

I didn’t think that I was gone that long; until a hospital employee named Linda had to hunt me down to tell me that Charlie was ready to leave. Charlie was screaming, “Where is Rita? She is suppose to drive me home!”

So I went to get the car to drive Charlie home. Now I have to go back to the hospital pharmacy so that a professional can recite my right to any antibiotics in any form!

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