I have a major sleeping problem. In short, I don't. At least not on an appropriate schedule like normal people. Little of what I do is normal, though, so big shocker there.
For a couple of years I would go to bed at a normal time, physically and mentally tired, and then wake up to full consciousness every 20 minutes. I'd fall back asleep, but then wake up 20 minutes later. This went on all night. Evenings stretched on longer for me than daytime. I was always sleepy, confused and disoriented.
When I lived on the houseboat, sleeping quarters were tight. The stateroom was only six feet long, so the full-size bed just barely fit. And there were two humans and at least one feline in the bed each night. Both humans happen to be at least six feet tall, and one cat is more than 16 pounds. That's a lot of body mass for a petite mattress. It was during that time period that my sleeping problems became significantly worse.
Then we moved into a house with a King size bed and a Tempurpedic mattress. The bed was so enormous that I had to send postcards just to stay in touch. I luxuriated in the excessive leg room and notable dry warmth, which had also been lacking on the S.S. Octopus of Loooove. For a few months, I fell asleep and stayed asleep until at least four a.m. It was the most bizarre feeling to wake up after 6 solid hours of sleep. I felt like I was arising from a coma. The only problem was the Jasper alarm, which went off at 4:30 every morning, demanding fish-flavored breakfast.
Then I got rid of two of my three "bed partners" - as the Swedish Sleep Institute calls them on the 45 page questionnaire I completed today. My remaining bed partner has been trained to sleep on the floor, on a cushion that was supposed to be for meditation but is now swathed in agouti fur. So I have a queen size bed to myself, and the problem has shifted from "up all night" to simply "UP."
I get in bed at 10 or 11 and it's often 2 or 3 a.m. before I fall asleep. It's maddening. I have tried Tylenol PM, Kava kava, Valerian root, chamomile tea, Benadryl, Dramamine, melatonin and skullcap, in varying combinations and strengths. I've tried meditation and chanting, Reiki, massage therapy, hypnosis, bright light therapy and -- in desperation -- prayer. The only thing that works is Nyquil, which for obvious reasons is a problem. (As Denis Leary says, "I'm high as a kite and my teeth are green, Merryfuckingchristmas!")
In an exasperated session with my doctor last week, I told him I was beyond his revolutionary suggestion of warm milk. I told him I don't drink milk. He said, "Maybe that's your problem." He also informed me that people of Nordic heritage are genetically deficient in caffeine. Then he prescribed me Trazodone, which he assured would help me sleep until I could get to the Swedish Sleep Clinic. It is not habit-forming (I really like to form habits) and isn't part of the Ambien crowd. I took one at 9:30 p.m. on Thursday and woke up two days later. My alarm had been going off the whole time. When I finally got out of bed, the side effects included blurred vision, lack of coordination, loss of motor control, confusion and forgetfulness. And this is better than insomnia HOW?
This morning I went to the Sleep Clinic for an evaluation. Within 30 seconds I wanted to slap the woman. I truly despise the medical community to begin with, and the more time I spend in doctors' offices, the more material they give me to work with. Problem is, I didn't have a box on her sheet to mark off -- insomnia, restless legs, apnea, etc. -- some quick and convenient diagnosis. She couldn't quite figure out why I can't fall or stay asleep during the week but on Saturdays I often get 14-16 hours of sleep. That makes two of us.
The Sleep Specialist offered me still more pharmaceuticals. "What's causing it?" I pleaded with her. She didn't know. When I told her, like my doctor, that I preferred to examine the root cause of the issue instead of the decidedly Western method of applying drugs to the symptoms, she looked totally offended. "Then I'm not sure I can help you," she said, slamming my file closed.
Because I apparently have nothing better to do on a Saturday night, I agreed to a sleep study. I'm still unsure exactly how this is going to help. Let's see. You hunker down in a hospital bed in your PJ's, hooked up to machines with suction cups on your forehead, eyeballs and ankles, and night-owls in lab coats stare at you through a two-way mirror -- and you're supposed to SLEEP?
By far the best part is that I cannot have coffee on Saturday, and will also be denied my drug of choice on Sunday, when I have a "nap study". They put you down and tuck you in for little 20 minute naps every two hours to monitor how long it takes you to slip into REM sleep. I never nap. If I fall asleep during the day I wake up in a panic attack, certain the world is about to end. Take away my caffeine, and I'm certain it will.
When Mon Frere was living with me, he had a fish tank in the living room, two doors away from my bedroom. The aquarium was quite beautiful and featured a tiny stone dragon that filled with bubbles. When the air built up inside the dragon, it would release a puff of bubbles from its nostrils at random intervals. That freaking dragon kept me up three nights straight until I finally yanked the cord out of the wall yelling, "No bubbles for you!"
So I'm not sure how Dr. Blind Cavefish in the basement of the Sleep Lab thinks he's going to get me to slumber care-free while wired to his devices and machines.
Though they did say I could bring my teddy bear.
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