Meditations

Philippians 4:8

I've struggled with insomnia since I was a child. I've even blogged about it a few times. A little over a year ago, I shared that I'd had a breakthrough. I'm happy to say that I've added some refinements to the approach that I shared there.

Sleep Study

I feel pretty, oh, so pretty!
All wired up so the experts can analyze what goes on while I sleep.

Last night, I went to the hospital for my third sleep study. When I shared the picture of me with wires and tape and canulas draped all over me, people wondered how anyone could sleep with all that junk on them. A fair question. But the real challenge turned out to be the room temperature, not the myriad of wires.

Sleep at Last

My husband and light of my life, Stephen, is able to fall asleep (most nights) within about three minutes of his head hitting the pillow. On the other hand, until recently, I routinely tossed and turned for literally hours. At least once a week I just gave up and went downstairs to read.

Recently, however, I have discovered a trick that works for me and might just help my fellow sleep-impaired friends.

Post from the Past: 50 Ways to Leave your Covers

Originally posted in December 2012

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Sleeping Beauty
Photo credit: Prince Charming

On Facebook this morning, I posted the following status:

I posted it because I truly have a hard time waking up. Often, the voice of Neil Sedaka swam through my head as I hit the snooze button.

Sleep (Again)

"Sleepy" is my favourite dwarf. If you've been reading this blog long enough, then you already knew that. In fact, I've written 11 posts with the label "sleep." The problem is: I have a tendency to be nocturnal -- or, at least, so I thought until I retired.

Ah, sleep!

As I lay there the other night trying (and failing) to fall asleep, I starting thinking about sleep. And the more I thought about it, the weirder it seemed.

We willingly spend significant chunks of our day comatose, periodically paralyzed and hallucinating, I thought. If we don't get that time, we can actually go insane. Once we fall asleep, most of us have a hard time waking up. At least, I do.

Love not sleep, lest you come to poverty; open your eyes, and you will have plenty of bread.  Proverbs 20:13

As I reflected, I concluded that even more than being asleep, I love falling asleep. Oh, that sweet drifting! And the irresistible tug of sleep in the morning, my head feeling heavy, my breathing still slow. The pleasure of falling asleep is like falling in love; it's not the actual thing, but it is more thrilling.

He said, “Go away, for the girl is not dead but sleeping.” And they laughed at him. Matthew 9:24

For several years, in fact, I experienced a stomach-dropping sensation - like what you experience on a roller-coaster - just as I was falling asleep. It was a little like a panic attack, but without the adrenalin rush. Not unlike the stomach-flip that happens when you see your beloved, in those early passion-laced days.

If you lie down, you will not be afraid; when you lie down, your sleep will be sweet.  Proverbs 3:24

I've only had anesthesia a couple of times, but I know that waking up was the hardest part. I just wanted to sleep and sleep and sleep . . . Quite honestly, I understand how Michael Jackson became addicted to induced sleep. (Not that I excuse his doctor for providing it.)

O sleep! O gentle sleep!
Nature’s soft nurse, how have I frighted thee,
That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down
And steep my senses in forgetfulness?
Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs,
Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee,
And hush’d with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber,
Than in the perfum’d chambers of the great,
Under the canopies of costly state,
And lull’d with sound of sweetest melody?
2 Henry IV (3.1.7-16)

Anyone who struggles with insomnia knows the misery of being absolutely bone weary, but completely unable to make that delicious transition from tired to asleep.

Of all the comments I've posted on Twitter, this is the most "favorited."

More than 80 days since I posted that, it still gets "favorites."

For his part, Stephen rarely has trouble falling asleep, but when he's stressed, he often has trouble staying asleep. A friend of mine has the same problem.

Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments
Will hum about mine ears; and sometime voices,
That, if I then had wak’d after long sleep,
Will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming,
The clouds methought would open and show riches
Ready to drop upon me; that, when I wak’d
I cried to dream again.

The Tempest (3.2.96-104)

I think either one is bad. It means we aren't getting our rest.

Weekends, of course, are positively rife with potential to sleep: Naps! Sleep late! Go to bed early! (If that's your thing.)

On that note, I will wish you a good weekend and sweet dreams. I am off to read in bed and sleep in tomorrow morning!

Fifty Ways to Leave Your Covers

Sleeping Beauty
Photo credit: Prince Charming

On Facebook this morning, I posted the following status:

I posted it because I truly have a hard time waking up. Often, the voice of Neil Sedaka swam through my head as I hit the snooze button.

Within minutes, a sharp-witted friend posted a comment saying, "Fifty ways to leave your covers." And the games began. Here, therefore, for your amusement, is our adaptation of Paul Simon's song, with thanks to Martha and Pete.

Fifty Ways to Leave Your Covers

"The problem is all inside your bed,"
She said to me.
"The answer is easy if you
Don't take it drowsily.
I'd like to help you in your struggle
To wake up.
There must be fifty ways
To leave your covers.

She said, "It's really not my habit
To sleep nude,
Even so, I hope my meaning
Won't be lost or misconstrued.
But I'll repeat myself
At the risk of being crude,
There must be fifty ways
To leave your covers.
Fifty ways to leave your covers."

[CHORUS:]
"Hop outta the sack, Jack.
Make a new bed, Jed.
Don't fluff that pillow!
Just listen to me.
Throw back the quilt, Wilt
You don't need to hit snooze much!
Just lose the duvet, Ray
And make yourself tea."

She said, "It grieves me so
To see you sleep again,
I wish there was something I could do
To help you greet the dawn."
I said, "I appreciate dreams.
But would you please explain
About the fifty ways?"

She said, "Why don't we both
Just sleep on it tonight
And I believe in the morning
You'll begin to see the light."
And then she kissed me,
And I realized she probably was right:
There must be fifty ways
To leave your covers.
Fifty ways to leave your covers.

The Perils of Wynn Anne

If you haven't seen "The Perils of Pauline" yet, do.
It is one of our family's favourites.

So I ask you, if being terribly sick in bed isn't a good excuse to blog, what is? If I can't share the insights gained through my delirium, why have deliriums, I ask?

On Saturday evening, Steve and I joined our neighbours for a pot-luck gathering. I love pot-luck dinners because everyone brings his or her specialty.

Unfortunately, someone's specialty happened to include some kind of food poisoning. I was up all night being ill. Here, for your pleasure, are the contents of my Dyspeptic Diary..

• My most offensive observation: vomit is considerably less disgusting if you close your eyes until well after you have flushed. [Can't believe it took me almost fifty years to learn that one.] 
• Once my body was empty of everything but blood and tears, I tried to sleep. I failed. Instead, I developed a spontaneous attack of restless leg syndrome - which I have never had before. Trying to keep my legs still for more than thirty seconds was almost painful, and at several times I found myself pedalling in bed! (Another reason to be glad I had banished Steve to the guest room.)
• Okay, another TMI observation: there are benefits to having a bathroom so small that one can simultaneously sit on the loo and spit into the sink. Just sayin'.
• Also, I was cold - which I almost never am - but not feverish. I wore two pairs of pyjamas and slippers and still needed more blankets. 
• Once I was confident I wouldn't need to hop out of the tub, I soaked for a good half hour. This calmed the RLS and warmed me up so I could sleep. 
• Whimpering and moaning just happen. Whimpering = sudden, sharp pain. Moaning = slow ache or wave of nausea. 
• Dyspeptic dreams really are the stuff of Scrooge.* I dreamt that: 
• For hours, every time I nodded off, I found my thoughts were being auto-published to a website. This is very disturbing. And boring.
• My mother drove a massive RV mobile-home into another car and pushed it around the corner. This did not appear to be accidental.
• My father drove a car into a marshy area, with me as a passenger. He alone knew the path safely through it. (There was certainly no room for an RV on this path.)
• I went to great pains to get up early and fly to Toronto for a course, only to find that the course was in Ottawa. I lost my camera at the check-in desk having never even left Ottawa.
• To get back home from the airport, I had to trek through the airport, and what appeared to be Algonquin College and the National Arts Centre which were all conjoined. 
• I stumbled upon a trove of all the toys and craft items that Steve and I have given away over the years. I coveted them all (well, almost all of them).

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A true "break fast" in bed.

So there you have my night's tribulations. Thank you for sharing them with me.

Between sleeps, Steve took tender care of me, delivering my first meal. Which was very touching until I discovered (today) that he was scarfing down the tiramisu that I had set aside for later.

I awoke this morning feeling dizzy and achy. I tried going to work (to a course, in fact, in Ottawa), but turned back. I'm feeling much better now and would happily eat some tiramisu if there were any in the house. 

* Scrooge says to the Marley ghosts, "You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato. There's more of gravy than of grave about you, whatever you are!"

Dream Re-Runs

Did you know that almost everyone has the dream where you're trying to drive the car from the back seat? Or the brakes are blown and you're trying not to crash and burn?

Apparently, that's a very common dream. I suspect it has to do with feeling that life is out of control. [Pause while I google to find out.] According to the Dream Dictionary, I'm not far off.

Cars are symbols of the real life conscious world. They are symbols of how you are progressing towards your goals. So think about the practical ways in which you have been moving towards your goals. Is the dream making some point about how well or how badly you are progressing. Are you heading in the right direction. A car at a standstill could suggest that you are taking a pause or that you have come up against some delay.

I've had that dream many, many times. I've also repeatedly had the flying dream, and the one about crumbling teeth, which is also apparently fairly common and apparently means something about the loss of something that should be permanent (a break-up or the death of a loved one).

But I also have a couple of other recurring dreams.

Darling Katie, not even one day old.

Babies!
Not surprisingly, I dream about babies often. But usually it's a really stressful dream: the baby is not my own, or there are too many babies to care for, or something is wrong. It's probably normal bad-mommy anxiety still playing out. If motherhood were remotely like these dreams, I would never have had four children.

Houses
Also an anxiety dream. The houses in my dreams are always my homes (in the dream, I mean, not in real life). They have rooms where you wouldn't expect them, are falling into disrepair, have indoor pools and secret passageways, multiple kitchens, and built-in beds. I've dreamt of cottages sinking into swamps, grand houses that could be featured in Architectural Digest, and just about everything in between. In all of these cases, things are in flux, something is incomplete (even in the mansions). I've also dreamt of my childhood home, but not often. [It was an irretrievably ill-designed house. Some day I will have to write about it, it was that bad.]

Tornadoes
These dreams started when we lived in Alabama and received training on what to do in case of such an emergency. In the summer, we had weekly tornado drills, with alarms. And we did have one tornado warning, meaning that tornadoes had been seen in the area. It was very frightening, and I remember hunkering in a linen closet with wee Katie, just months old, while sirens blared without stopping.

These are panicky dreams where I don't feel safe. [No shit, Sherlock.] They reached a peak when I was going through the most tumultuous time with my mother, before our estrangement began. The worst ones are where my tornado dreams and my baby dreams meld and I am trying to save children while this murderous force bears down on us. Mercifully, these are rare.

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What about you? What are your recurring dreams, and what do you think they mean?

Changing Things Up

Photo by Cathy Walters in Colorado Springs

I've heard that the secret to a long, sexually satisfying marriage is to change things up every now and then.

So last week, I warned Steve that come Saturday we were going to try something new. He didn't really take me seriously.

I know he didn't because on Saturday morning, when I said, "So tonight we make the switch," he said, "You're serious!"

Yes. Yes, I was. It was time to switch which sides of the bed we sleep on.

You see, for almost three decades, we've been in a rut, and it probably could have gone on indefinitely, but Steve suffered an injury while working on our back yard last fall: he wrecked his left shoulder. That was a year ago, and he still has pain, even after massage therapy, anti-inflammatory meds, and exercises.

As a result, he has only been able to spoon me for short periods of time before his shoulder starts hurting.

I don't know about you, but for me, spooning is one of the single greatest benefits of marriage. Even back when the kids were little and I felt "touched out" by the end of the day, I still looked forward to that comforting snuggle.

Even when summer heat and medication-induced sweatiness made me want to sprawl under a lawn sprinkler, I still craved my snuggles, and lots of them. So this year-long deprivation has really bothered me. Several times I had joked that we should switch sides of the bed so Steve could lie on his right side, but we never did it.

"What! Change?" Steve would jokingly retort, "That's the kind of crazy talk that leads to revolutions!" And then he would claim that his shoulder was feeling surprisingly better, but it never lasted.

So last night was our first night under the new order. I moved my things from my bedside table to the one on the "wrong" side. Swapped pillows.

Totally, totally weird. We'll try this for a while, but I don't know ...

Is that a bear?

GIT IN MAH MOUF!
Source: True Wild Life

When my sister was young, she had a nightmare: a bear was stalking her, and she could hear it growling. Loudly, the way wild animals do, with that low rumble that you can feel in your spine. She awoke in a panic, then gradually realized that she COULD STILL HEAR THE BEAR! It was in the house!

A few more moments later, and a little wider awake, she realized that there was no bear. It was our dad, snoring.

My dad's snoring was ... "loud" doesn't do it justice. "Apocalyptic" is the word that comes to mind, though it didn't really presage the end of the world. Let's just say it was memorable. Also inescapable anywhere in the house.

Even worse, to me anyway, his snoring would stop abruptly for long seconds at a time — an indicator of sleep apnea. I remember lying awake, waiting for him to breathe again. For me, his snoring became a comfort: I knew my daddy was there. I knew he was breathing and alive.

But no one will be surprised to learn that our mother spent many years sleeping on our couch, despite the fact that she had a bad back. She had a choice: comfort for her back OR sleep.

I recently read an article that said,

In fact, 23 percent of married couples sleep alone, according to a 2005 survey conducted by the National Sleep Foundation, an increase from 12 percent of American couples in 2001. The National Association of Home Builders, which has reported requests for duel-master bedroom houses on the rise since the early 90s, predicts in the next five years 60 percent of new, upper-middle-class homes will use the double master bedroom plan.

Once there were enough extra beds in the house, my parents did take up separate rooms. I scorned them for what I perceived as a failure of intimacy. [In their case, I do think it was that, as well as the whole snoring problem.] This, of course, was long before the days of sleep studies and the awareness that snoring and sleep apnea were serious medical concerns that could worsen heart disease.

Steve snores. I don't ever remember him not snoring. Yes, loudly. And I can honestly say it hasn't really bothered me. Sometimes I nudge him to roll over, but most of the time, I just relax and am glad he's there and breathing. You know, alive and everything. I do hold my breath if he actually stops breathing (most snorers do), but those are rare and for very, very brief periods.

I also snore. It bothers Steve, worse some nights than others. In fact, it seems to depend more on how well he is sleeping in general than with my actual snoring. He has spent a few nights sleeping on the guest bed, however.

I also have apnea episodes that have actually woken me up. It's not a pleasant thing. I have a CPAP machine which, as well as stopping the apnea episodes and helping me live longer (yay!) stops the snoring. But ...

(I flipped the picture, so it looks more normal to you.)

I agree: it's hard to say which is worse for your marriage: separate beds or CPAP "snorkels."

Also, you can't open your mouth while these things are hooked up or they just blow air through your nose and out your mouth. It feels as weird as it sounds. And when you wake up? You have little indentations on your forehead that remain visible for at least an hour. I hate the thing. Seriously. I haven't worn it in months. Fortunately, Steve's been exhausted enough that he's sleeping soundly despite my snoring.

Getting old kinda sucks.

Not functioning at full potential

Night and Sleep    |    Evelyn De Morgan
This print may be purchased through Illusions Gallery

I'm not sick, but for some reason all I want to do today is sleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

I got up, had breakfast and coffee, then lay down for a nap at 11 a.m., and woke up at 2:30 p.m.! And still, all I want to do is climb into those cool sheets beneath the slowly revolving fan and drift off into that nowhere Land of Nod.

It feels like there is a lead weight in my forehead that wants to turn me horizontal; my neck has all the strength of cooked pasta. My breathing tends toward sighing. I have siren-like flashbacks of those daytime dreams (which, oddly enough, were a continuation of my morning dreams - I've never had that happen, even when I wanted it).

But if I sleep now, I won't sleep tonight. Then getting up tomorrow will be misery.

Our cat, Elly, curls with her paw over her nose, and snores lightly, taunting me with her liberty to sleep wherever and whenever she wishes.

I wonder what my sleep cycle will be like when I have retired, when there will be few occasions when I must rise by a certain hour. Will I be like Elly, a narcoleptic sloth? Or will I have to wait for heaven to experience that?

Memories

What will he remember about that trip?

Last night, I fell asleep thinking about memory and a potential blog post. Not surprisingly, I doubted that I would remember it this morning. But I did, so here you go. There are three tidbits of information bouncing around in my brain, and I'm trying to reconcile them.

First up: my friends Joe and Mary recently educated me on the fallibility of memory. It seems that human memory, especially for details, is terrifically inaccurate.

They told this story to illustrate:

A couple, while stalled in traffic, witnessed the stabbing of a bicyclist on a parallel road. By the time the passenger got through to 9-1-1 a minute or so later, traffic had moved and they could no longer see the crime scene. While talking to the operator, the driver and passenger could agree on only one fact: a bicyclist had been stabbed. They disagreed on everything else: physical descriptions of perpetrator and victim, clothing type and colour, colour and type of bicycle. 

Can you imagine the implications for legal proceedings?

I've also been told (in my Psych 101 course, oh, so many years ago, so this is subject to the vagaries of memory over time), that children remember the things and moments that are exceptional. So a child will remember the one time you totally lost your cool and spanked him, but will forget the innumerable times you breathed deeply and sent him for a "time out." How unfair is that?

Finally, oh, crap, what was the third one? I just had it! Oh, yes. A personal observation: when I hear an answer that doesn't jibe with what I expect or want to hear, it doesn't "stick." For example, I can't remember how many times I asked my mother to share the story of my own birth before I finally remembered her answer. I realized that it wasn't a happy story. Her central memory was of my father leaving her at the hospital so that he could go back and close the windows as it was starting to rain. And I think she also said something about being in a hall listening to all the other women crying out in pain.

It didn't answer to either of the things I selfishly wanted to know: what was childbirth like (what might it be like for me?), and did she love me as soon as she saw me (was I worth the pain?).

And - oh! - I've just had a tiny epiphany. This phenomenon is really the result of cognitive dissonance (another thing I learned about in Psych 101): that feeling where conflicting "truths" vie for brain space. The human tendency is to give weight to one, and to discount the other, often based on which truth is more attractive or comfortable, or to adapt our belief system to new information (much less likely).

I think cognitive dissonance also has a lot to do with repressed memories which one might think would be all the more memorable for being outside the "usual," as per my second point.

I'm still left wondering two things:

1. How reliable are my memories of my own youth?
2. What will my own children remember?

While I have reason to doubt the specifics/details of memories, I do think that the feelings aroused when we reflect back are quite reliable. I have no foundation for this belief - haven't heard or read anything about it.

What do you think? Have you experienced any of these "failures" of memory?

Working for the Weekend

Don't you just lurrrv weekends?

All work-week long, even years after we've given up our party-hardy college ways, we wait for Friday so we can let loose. Even when we love our jobs, weekends represent that low-key time with family and friends. Time to catch up and get caught up with chores and errands. Friday nights are pizza nights, catch-as-catch-can nights, dinner-in-front-of-the-TV nights. Bedtime? Who cares.

Well, except at our house: we still have to get up by 9 on Saturday mornings, so the cleaning ladies [Yippee! Cleaning ladies!] can have their run of the house. So we do try to get everyone in bed by midnight. Me included.

[Note: Steve invariably is in bed by 10:15 p.m. and is up by 6:30 a.m. The whole stay-up-late-and-sleep-in thing is anathema to him.]

Our Saturday-morning routine varies a little, depending on what else is planned for the day and how rich and hungry we are. On nothing-planned mornings just after payday and if everyone is very hungry, we go to Cora's for a slow, delicious breakfast. On busy-broke mornings, we hit McDonald's.

This past Saturday (just after payday), the line-up at Cora's was too long, so Emily, Peter and I went to Kettleman's Bagels. The food and coffee were great, so I think we'll go back there again. (Steve and Brian were camping in the wet, wet woods.)

Wood-oven, Montreal-style bagels, smokey, slightly sweet and hard as rocks.
YUM!

Chocolate Homentaschen. YUM again!

Peter's slowly learning to be my photography subject.

Lox and bagel with cream cheese, Bermuda onions, capers and tomato.
The bagel on the right is Peter's BLT.
YUM again-again!

After breakfast, Peter wandered the mall while Emily and I decided to go for mani-pedi.

(You should've seen the looks the elderly woman beside Emily gave us!
Like she'd never seen two-tone hair or nose piercings.
Or a mother taking pictures of her daughter.
The lady's hair was burnt-orange and her face was sour. No lie.)

Emily wanted stripes, but the aesthetician wasn't sure about that.
So she got an abstract flower instead.

Happy toes!
They were in desperate need, with all the work I've done in the garden.

After that, we went shopping, natch, then went home to take care of the pool and the laundry. A Saturday well spent.

Let the wild rumpus begin!

Here was the plan:
0630 Steve, Wynn Anne and Emily wake up, shower, make beds (Peter and Brian remain in blissful stupor)
0700 Steve takes Emily to have fasting bloodwork done; Landlord arrives with painter to give estimate on painting interior
0800 Packers arrive; Technician arrives to certify all electronics and appliances

Here's what happened:
0630 Steve, Wynn Anne and Emily wake up, shower, make beds (Peter and Brian remain in blissful stupor)
0645 Emily, running on auto-pilot, takes her morning meds - Oops! Now she can't do her bloodwork. Emily goes back to bed.
0740 Landlord and painter arrive

0845 Technician and packers arrive

Have I mentioned that I do not DO mornings? I am the night-owliest of the night owls. I would sooner stay up until three in the morning than GET up at three in the morning. Any time that I have to be up before the first digit on the clock is at least a 7 is painful. So that difference between 0700 promised arrival and 0740 actual arrival represents 40 minutes that I could have been sleeping. Sleeping, I tell you!

On the bright side, stuff is getting wrapped, taped, and boxed. Walls are looking barren. The cat has been sedated and trapped in Emily's room for the duration. The move is HAPPENING.