Dreamt I was mixing pigments in a surgeon's scrub room

I'm standing at a sink in a bright OR anteroom, but instead of surgical instruments I'm grinding cochineal beetles into a mortar. The scrub nurse keeps handing me more reds—crimson, alizarin, rust—and I'm trying to match the exact shade of a living mitral valve. The weird part is I can feel the texture of the pigment on my fingers, and the valve keeps beating under the water. Woke up with my hands cold.