The Caduceus of Asclepius

I lay across the seat in the back of the white ambulance van, trying to sleep.  This task was more strenuous than it might seem: every time I was about to doze off, I was awakened by a sudden burst of screaming, explosions, or sirens.

The other staff members rushed out of the van whenever this happened to assist the wounded, but I remained behind and did my best to sleep through the chaos.  What was the point?  What could a pediatrician like myself possibly do in a situation like this?  No one ever came stumbling out of the flames with a lethal case of chicken pox, nor were there throngs of children lying half-dead in the streets due to an unusually aggressive infestation of head lice.

I was jolted out of my near-sleep by a banging on the window by one of my colleagues.  Apparently such a situation had indeed arisen, and my services were needed.  I began to get up but suddenly froze, struck by the horrible realization that I was not a pediatrician after all.
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Notes:
Please forgive the pretentious title; I was trying to be clever.  The Rod of Asclepius (a single snake coiled around a staff) is the correct symbol for the field of medicine.  However, the Wand of Hermes or "Caduceus" (two snakes coiled around a winged staff) is often mistakenly used instead.  The confusion between the two symbols seemed to be an apt analogy for the content of the dream.

The Stifled Shriek

They stood at an intersection of stairways in a dark, rundown building: men and women, dressed as if they had been on their way to work, or out for a day shopping, or on a brief stroll through the park.  Too scattered to be called a mob, but too many to be called anything else. They faced all in different directions, their eyes half-closed, softly moaning.

A hum was heard from deep below and abruptly ended with the cheery chime of an elevator. Sliding doors rumbled open, a man stepped forward from a shaft of light, the doors slid shut once again. Apparently oblivious to the strange scene around him, the man shouted in a tone of annoyance: "Damn them, running us late, what the hell do they-"

Suddenly his voice cut off, and his head rolled back. His eyes bulged, and a horrible shout of agony tore loose from his gaping mouth. Expressions of fury appeared on the faces of the others, and they rushed towards him.

But before they could reach him, the shout ended in a stifled gurgle. The man's head slumped down onto his chest. The others turned away and returned to their quiet moaning, and he joined them.

Again and again this scene was repeated, and the building slowly filled.
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Notes:
I have no god damned clue what this dream was about. My best guess is that it had something to do with the manner in which the pillow had worked its way under my head, so that my neck was curved back at an odd angle which caused an uncomfortable tightness in my throat.  The elevator/rundown building imagery is perhaps drawn from my recent forays into the Manhattan subway system.