Insomnia

Ugh. Insomnia. We have been enemies friends for six very long years.

I have tried sleeping pills. I have tried everything natural. I've tried having a normal routine. I’ve tried to not let myself lay in bed and stare at the ceiling for longer than 30 minutes before I get up and read, take a hot shower, attempt something to help me sleep.

I've told myself for the last year that as long as I am laying down, at least my body is resting. I have convinced myself that as long as I let my body rest for eight hours, I will be fine.

This week I guess I hit my brick wall.

I was sitting at my desk, just staring at my computer. I wasn't working, just staring. Not even realizing I was doing it. My co-worker came in and asked if I was okay. I told the lie I tell every day “Yes, I’m fine.” She continued “Are you sure? You look really upset?”

I started crying. She had that oh shit what did I say? Look on her face. “What’s wrong?”

I am so tired. So tired I can’t see straight. So tired that I think I am losing my mind. No one understands how insane insomnia is making me!

“How long exactly has it been since you slept?”

I couldn't think. I couldn't count. Eight nights. Maybe ten. Maybe twelve. Maybe two weeks. I’m not sure. The last time I got eight hours of sleep in one sitting? Months. Probably since I went off my sleeping pills in October.

Listening to myself try to remember how long it’s been since I slept, I realized it was time.

Time to go back to the doctor. Time to stop trying to do this alone. Time to throw in the towel and give up and scream “ I have insomnia!”

I made a doctor’s appointment.

Friday I found myself sitting in my doctor’s office, yet again. With another medical issue.. again.

My doctor came in and asked why I was there.

“I can’t sleep. I haven’t slept normal in six years. I stare at the ceiling for two to four hours before falling asleep. After I finally fall asleep, I wake up two hours later. To stare at the ceiling for another two hours. Or read for two hours. And I’ll be able to fall asleep for another two hours. Only to wake up again two hours later. And the cycle continues until it’s time to get up for work. I’m losing my damn mind! I can’t take this shit anymore. I can sleep all day but I can’t sleep at night. I don’t let myself nap. I am exhausted every.second.of.the.day. and as soon as I go to bed, I’m wide awake. Staring at the ceiling. I’m losing it. I do it all week long that come the weekend all I do is sleep. I think something broke when my husband died. Can "sleep" break? Is that even possible?”

I stopped. I realized I was rambling. I might have said too much. Maybe I should have sugar coated it and made it sound not as bad as it really is.

Mrs. Doc Lady “Let me get this right, you are sleeping two hours at a time, and have been doing this for six years now? And we have tried you on sleeping meds? Why are you not taking your sleeping pills that I prescribe?”

Because they are addicting.. and I don’t want to become an addict. I stopped taking them in October. I thought my body would reset and I would be fine.

I suddenly felt like I was on trial. I was defensive. How dare she question my sleep!

Mrs. Doc Lady “Honey, these sleep problems going on for six years NOT normal. You can’t do this anymore. Do you realize insomnia kills people?”

Yes. I know insomnia can actually kill you. But so can sleeping pills. But I’m not normal. I was widowed at 29 years old. What exactly is normal about me?

She could see I was defensive and upset. “You have been in counseling for six years. It's been three years since your husband passed away. It's time to get back to some kind of normal. I want you to sleep more than two hours at a time. Frankly if I was sleeping two hours at a time for the last six years I would probably lose my mind”

I took a deep breath and reminded myself she wasn't the enemy. After all, I called her for help. She didn't drag me in there.

Mrs. Doc Lady “So here’s what we are going to do. For six weeks you are going to be in bed, with your sleeping pill in your stomach, no later than 9pm every single night. Including Saturday’s. And you will be up at 5am. Every single day, including Saturday’s. No naps. No TV or phone after 8pm. Sleeping pill in your stomach and you in bed by 9pm, got it? For six straight weeks. After that we will wing you off the medication. If your sleep is not normal, and I mean at least six straight hours of sleep a night kind of normal, I am sending you in for a sleep study. I am afraid something is wrong but we need to do this before we can do a sleep study. And I need you to commit to this for six weeks. Six straight weeks. No skipping the medication because you think you can do this on our own. You can do this or I can send you for a sleep study tonight”

She had me backed into a corner. I was sweaty and slightly panicky. On the verge of tears. Frankly she scared the shit out of me the whole sleep study thing. What if my husband died isn't really my issue? What if I have a medical problem that causes me to wake up every two hours?

Feeling beaten, slightly ashamed, scared of the possibility of a sleep study and too tired to argue, I agreed.

I realized that even when I seek help, I don’t want to accept it. Even when I know I am at my wits end, I fight it. Even when I feel like I can’t stay sane any longer, I fight help.

Where did this come from? I used to gladly accept help. I used to admit I had a problem without feeling ashamed or attacked.

Now my doctor that is trying to help me, is the enemy. What caused this? Being widowed?

So I start my six weeks of a who can really do this normal sleep schedule. Bed at 9pm. Up by 5am.

I can’t help but grumble. Frustrated that I have yet another medical issue since my husband’s death. Obviously caused by my husband’s illness and suicide.

Frustrated that I am fighting another war alone. Frustrated that I will be doing this alone. Frustrated that I am getting up at 5am on Saturday and Sunday's to be.. alone. Frustrated that the only motivation for this is my own. I don't have anyone to wake me up at 5am, coffee in hand, and say "Get up. Only a couple more weeks and we are done with this whole thing. Now get up." 

A Talk of Death

I just returned from visiting with my parents and aunt. I take the two hour drive every other weekend, as I know that my folks, and their generation of family members, won't be around forever. Of course none of us will be around forever, will we? It's just that my parents are in their late 70's, and with many health problems. My aunt is in the final stage of her cancer, and I'm all too aware of how precious time becomes when you know someone is leaving sooner rather than later.

Each time I take this trip, my car is loaded with my kids, my daughter's boyfriend, and on a few occasions, Abel, my new boyfriend. Today's trip felt quite intense. We visited with my folks first, then had them join us for a visit with my aunt. While at the visit my cousins were sharing with me that my aunt has chosen to end her chemotherapy. She has decided that her last days will be healthier and happier days without the misery that chemo can bring. It was kind of a sobering occasion.

On the long drive home Abel and I had a long conversation about health, death and aging. We talked about the various diseases that have affected our family's of origin, and how illness and death have touched each of our lives. At one point there was a pause, and Abel turned to me to ask, have you had a physical lately?

Funny timing. I do have a physical scheduled for this Monday. My health is definitely not something I take for granted. Although my kids are now teenagers, and young adults, I know that they still need me. I know that I still have much more parenting to do, and want to be sure that I am around for a long time. Remember, I will become a grandfather in less than two months. Last time that I met with my doctor, he told me that he was concerned about my blood pressure. It has always been borderline high, but now it is looking problematic. He reviewed my medical chart, and asked how long I have been on my anti-depressant.

Too long.

Like Janine, I have struggled with depression for many years. My depression has not been helped by the mental health problems that my two sons suffer from, nor has it been aided by the death of my husband. In the past two years I have tried twice to go off my medication, each time without much success. I usually do well for a couple months, then find myself sinking deeper and deeper.

I told my doctor that while I was not sure about going completely off the medication, I preferred to try going off the anti-depressant rather than adding another medication for high blood pressure. I'm worried, because I'm not sure I am making the right decision, but once again I feel that it is worth a try. I suppose that if there was an optimum time to try it would be when I am happily in a new relationship and looking forward to the arrival of new life. Is that enough? Is anything enough?

All I know is that I do feel a deep sense of responsibility to not die. Well, just not right now at least. One pill? Two pills? I will make that decision on Monday. Suddenly I have someone holding my hand, reminding me that he is quite invested in my being around for quite some time.