Crash Day

Until 1998, when I first started taking Ambien, this was my sleep pattern: i would lie in bed, brain buzzing, for hours until exhaustion took over. Then I'd wake up early so I could get ready for school, work, or whatever needed my attention. This was the pattern for week-days. Then on Saturday I would crash and sleep for 12 to 14 hours. I could't do that when I was the single mother of children younger than 5, though. During those years I just lived in a constant haze.

But, meanwhile, I trained my kids how to get their own cereal and turn on the Saturday morning cartoons. I also trained them not to wake me up unless the house was on fire. Once they were old enough to accomplish these tasks, I became semi-human again.

During the past 6 months or so, the Ambien finally lost its effectiveness and nothing else has helped me sleep. Back to the old pattern of hardly sleeping, then crashing because I'm exhausted.

Today was a crash day. I actually got some sleep! Not quite enough, unfortunately, but more than usual.

I went through a sleep study several years ago. They said I have sleep apnea and would stop breathing for up to, and sometimes more than, a minute at a time. So I got a machine to put on my face at night (I called it a face-hugger) to help me keep breathing while I slept. I used it exactly once. That might have something to do with bad sleep-patterns. Maybe.

I did notify the first nursing home I was in about my apnea but, as proved to be typical, they did nothing about it. Now I don't want a face-hugger. Yes, I know it would supposedly help me sleep. Yes, I know, sleep apnea can be dangerous. And, yes. I know I could stop breathing in my sleep and never start again. Kind of like SIDS for old people. (Sudden Oldsters Death Syndrome.)

I don't care.

If it's time for me to go to spirit and go home, so be it. And nobody had better revive me. I have a Do Not Resuscitate order in my file.

Yes, my life is absolutely getting better and I believe it will continue to improve, but it's not so great that I want to  live until I'm a hundred. With the history of longevity on both sides of my family, that could very well happen. What a horrible thought!

And, no, I'm not suicidal. If I was, there have been plenty of opportunities to do myself in since Lyra died, and I chose, every time, to stay in this body, flawed as it is. There are still love and joy to be had and to give in my life. And much to learn, maybe even to teach. 

So, though it's damned difficult at times, I'm truly happy to be me, alive, curious, growing spiritually and intellectually. I sense I'm running out of time, so I don't want to waste a minute or opportunity.

But I really don't want to live 35 more years, either. Really.