I guess I'm not a good doctor

Last night I worked in a hospital. I don't remember what I did there though. I just remember walking through the hallways with people asking me questions constantly that I couldn't answer. JonnyD picked me up after work and drove me home. It was dark outside and everything seemed to hang in suspension. I got to my apartment, a ground level flat in a highly urbanized area, to find the front door left open. All of my sheets and blankets were pilled on the porch. I surveyed the situation to find that nothing was out of place with the exception of my bedding. I put it all back in it's right place and went to sleep. I woke up and went back to the hospital. Everything was much the same as the day before. After work TK picked me up and drove me home. She wanted me to go out but I politely declined. I got home and the door was open again. This time nothing had been disturbed but I got a strange sensation that David Lynch was in charge. I made a bowl of soup and read a book then went to bed. The next morning I went back to the hospital. It was very busy and people seemed to be dying all around me. I didn't think it was my responsibility to save any of them but it's hard to just watch people suffer. The last image I have is of a middle aged man lying on a hospital bed along a hallway. A woman was standing beside, stroking his hair and telling him it was all going to be alright. His hair was grey and coarse like bears fur. No one moved to help the man as he coughed, struggled to breath. The woman just continued to run her fingers in his hair, no expression of regret, half smiling.