Here, Bauby recounts a dream of visiting Paris’s wax museum, the Musée Grévin. In his dream, the museum design remains true-to-life, but the wax figures—“these boys in T-shirts and girls in miniskirts, this housewife frozen with teapot in hand, this crash-helmeted youth”— have been replaced by the nurses and orderlies who attend to him (109).

He recalls that, at first, some of the hospital staff terrified him, as he saw them “only as [his] jailers, as accomplices in some awful plot” (110). He later hated those who lacked gentleness, and those that left him all night with the TV on. He admits that, for a few minutes or a few hours, he would cheerfully have killed them. With time, however, as he got to know them better, he understood that they each carried out their duties as best they could. He even gave them secret nicknames known only to himself and observed each of their individual quirks and foibles.

He admits that his dream did not adequately capture the details of the hospital personnel, “northerners whose ancestors have always lived on this strip of France between the Channel coast and the rich fields of Picardy” (111). He muses that it would take a medieval miniaturist to truly capture them in their fullness, and that he has grown fond of each of these people whom he nonetheless sardonically terms his “torturers.