This might have happened during my post-operative hours, but probably not.
I woke up on a bed in a dimly lit room. There was much movement all around me. Voices spoke in hushed tones. I recognized that one or two of the individuals were medical staff, probably nurses. I couldn't identify the others in the room, but I understood that their voices sounded faintly familiar.
I could hear only pieces of the conversation. It seemed lighthearted, humorous, and even engaging. Suddenly, I recognized one of the voices. It belonged to Gomez Addams, a character portrayed by actor John Astin in the 1960s TV comedy "The Addams Family."
Why was Gomez Addams in my hospital room?
I had little time to ponder the question. I was due in the operating room for a procedure that was scheduled to take hours to complete. While prone on my back and with a limited field of vision, I searched for a nurse. I needed to remind her of my procedure.
My surroundings changed. The spacious room shifted and narrowed. It now resembled the interior of an airplane, with a narrow aisle to one side and a line of hospital beds on another. I could see a bed at the foot of my bed, but not the patient in it. The aisle was empty, but I could hear people moving around behind the head of my bed. I could now hear them talking in clear, distinct voices. A few even stood over me and looked down at me.
I saw Robert Conrad, the TV actor known for "The Wild, Wild West." And the character actors Paul Gleason and William Atherton, both of whom were popular in the 1980s (Paul was the school principal in "The Breakfast Club" and William played the EPA inspector in 1984's "Ghostbusters"). Each smiled at me as they passed, but none spoke directly to me.
I noticed it was growing dark in my room. The sunlight was fading. The hour was growing late. How could the medical team possibly perform my procedure so late in the day, I thought? Would the doctors perform the surgery at night? Oh, where were the nurses, I wondered.
Still, a parade of chatty character actors passed by bed, making eye contact with me, but offering nothing directly, not even a, "Good day to you, sir."
I saw Dean Stockwell, Miguel Ferrer, and Judd Nelson. And the line of actors continued. It included both the living and those who are no longer with us.
In frustration and desperation, I shouted out that someone needed to help me. Someone needed to move me to the operating room so that my doctor could perform my procedure.
Abruptly it was quiet in the room. A figure pulled a chair up in the aisle near my head and sat down. It was Bradford Dillman, the award-winning character actor whose career spanned more than three decades and included work on Broadway, movies and TV.
"What's on your mind, old man?" Dillman asked in a voice long familiar to me.
I explained I was scheduled for a surgical procedure, and I needed to get to the operating room as soon as possible, before the operating team went home for the day.
"You must help me," I said.
"Relax. That procedure was completed hours ago. It was a success and you're now in a recovery room. You're doing fine," Dillman said.
I looked about me and realized I was in fact in my room in the intensive care unit. The door to my room was open and I could see nurses and other medical staff busy at work stations just outside my room. I turned to my visitor.
"So the operation is done, and I'm going to be OK, Bradford Dillman?" I asked.
"Yes," he said. "They wouldn't allow me and my friends in here with you otherwise," he said, flashing a warm smile.
I looked again at the busy nurses outside my room, and then turned to thank Bradford Dillman, but he was gone, leaving only an empty chair near my bed.
-- Thank you for reading. Please feel free to leave a question or comment.
