The other night someone must have injected some testosterone into my late-night Apple Jacks because I had one of the most intense dreams of my life. And now you are all going to hear about it.

Typically, my dreams are fairly action-packed, but my first year of medical school has filled a lot of my brain-space with paranoia for exams, which I think leaked into the “awesome” lobe of my brain.

The dream: Having finished Gross Anatomy, we moved on to the next course: “Disease Treatment.” Only in this case, we treated diseases by tearing open and climbing into the very fabric of our patients’ souls, which I can only assume was some seriously dark magic.

Having torn a hole in the space-time-spirituality continuum, we reluctantly plummeted into their inner psyche where we battled physical manifestations of their ailments using chainsaws, shotguns, and crossbows. It was terrifying. It was like Osmosis Jones if Rob Zombie did the art direction.

At one point in the dream I was set to battle Hepatitis B, which presented itself startlingly similarly to the queen in Aliens (Copyright apparently doesn’t extend to the subconscious. Yet.) Anyway, I had to battle this thing in a dark cavern with a chainsaw. They wouldn’t let me out until I finished the “treatment.” So I went up against the slimy thing, screaming the entire time out of terror, which foreshadows what my surgical career is probably going to be like.

The dream concluded with a final exam, which began with us firing a handgun at a target and concluded with us having to cross the firing range alive. In retrospect, that’s not too different from the actual process.