All I had to do was sleep. Sleep. My modus operandi is to be snoring soundly within 3 minutes of lying down. Out for the count. Regardless of caffeine or sugar or other stimuli. But this time, when I needed to sleep, sans stimulants, the land of slumber could not be found. I tossed. I turned. My thoughts raced. I tensed. I prayed. I pondered. I meditated. I imagined my body was filled with sand and visualized the sand seeping out, out, out, leaving me deflated, relaxed, and asleep. To no avail. I tried the technique again, imagining I was filled with water and let it flow slowly out. Again, to no avail, other than needing another trip to the vay-say (WC). I counted. I tried deep breathing. I planned. I went through my to-do list. I designed some landscaping features. I contemplated my dream home. I imagined Mr. Gadget next to me. I imagined Mr. Snazzy Pants in my arms, or down the hall, or reaching for me, or simply sleeping soundly in his bed. All to no avail.
I’ve been going through some mid-life maintenance of late. I’ve had my first mammogram (results ‘benign/normal’). I’ve had a pap. Oh joy. I’ve been to the dentist. I’m going to an allergist next week. And I’ve been to a sleep specialist. Because I snore. And possibly choke. I was to undergo a sleep study for obstructive sleep apnea. All I had to do was sleep.
Eventually the nurse came in and said they needed 6 hours of data for a valid study, and there were only 1.5 hours left before ‘wake-up’ time, and I hadn’t slept yet. I apparently have anxiety issues that I wasn’t aware of. That, and I still had a nasty cough, and about 30 electrodes attached to my body in various and sundry places. But most of all, it was my first night away from Mr. Snazzy Pants. I couldn’t get him out of my mind. I felt like such a failure. I’d hate to have to repeat such an experience, but it looks like that is in order, as I have only about an hour and a half of sleep under my belt. I left the hospital, sat in my car, and sobbed like a baby. Missing my baby. Hating the feeling of failure and inadequacy.
I called Mr. Gadget and sobbed some more. Of course Mr. Snazzy Pants is fine, he said.
