As I lay on the ground, thinking I was going to die, somehow the word got out. People came to see how we were doing. They assumed there was nothing they could do to save us. THe person who came to me was Jim Buckley, oddly enough - this, I think, came from my having gotten an invitation to his birthday in the mail a few days ago - and he brought me to his place. He gently asked how it felt, whether I was afraid, if I could handle it.
I said I could handle it better than a lot of painful things I'd handled in my life. I was waiting for the big fear to descend but it didn't, quite. I realized I didn't really want to die.
Someone discovered that the person who gave us the poison had altered it, diluted it, so we were not going to die after all.
I'm not certain but I may have changed the ending - I remember waking briefly from the dream and vaguely understanding that it *was* a dream. Maybe then I changed it.
I finally woke for real, faced the bloody phlegm, and now I am well on my way to what passes for normal these days.