The glove drawer was full of seashells

I dreamed I was back in the hospital, but instead of instruments my glove drawer was packed with seashells — tiny ones, like the kind you find on a beach after the tide goes out. I stood there counting them, the way I used to count sponges before I closed, and an old patient of mine came in and said, 'You can stop counting now.' I woke up with my hands feeling like they finally belonged to me again.