it’s only fitting that this be written at an ungodly hour. be aware of rambling :)
sleep. it’s a love hate relationship... I cant remember the last time I had a peaceful, restful, and rejuvenating night of sleep. Actually, it was probably the night before I got hurt, but who the hell really knows. Not getting enough good sleep is a common problem for many. So, it’s nice to not feel alone in the struggle. But, as my pain got worse, so did my sleep. The best way I can explain it is to just dump, here it goes...
So, let's be honest. Medication is great... when it works. Every medication will have its pros and cons, but not every medication is the right one. And when you tend to be overly sensitive to starting new medications and adapting to the side effects, you get tired of the Dr. casually adding meds, increasing doses, and yes crossing off the "failures". Well, here I was, more than halfway through my sophomore year with a hefty list of medications. Some for sleep, some for pain, some for inflammation, some for anxiety, and yes, some for both sleep and pain. The ones for both pain and sleep were my favorite. When the pain is so constant and you don't get any moments of reprieve, especially at night when the body is supposed to "self-heal" it's bound to drive one into a rage. In the weeks following my elbow surgery I was grateful that the baclofen was working. Within 15 mins of taking the one pill I was out. I knew sleep once again!
Jump forward 3 weeks and the dose increased due to tolerance. Yep, it started to not work. A new battle arose. To take or not to take the meds? Due to my increased tolerance against the medication, going up in dose only meant one thing, more side effects. It became an internal argument every night. Do I take the full dosage, sleep and then wake up with a massive groggy hangover? or... Do I not take the full dosage, not sleep, and still wake up groggy but without the headaches and upset stomach? Regardless of the internal conflict, pain won and I would force myself to take the medication in some capacity.
Night after night I would sit up in bed stretch, position every single pillow, find a semi comforting position, and then plop back down. This became my hourly routine. Each time getting woken up by sharp stabbing pains radiating down my arm and a puddle on my pillow. Crying myself in and out of sleep became the new normal. I couldn't handle it anymore. Laying in bed under the covers when your body continues to scream at you... is torture. Night time is for sleep, and when you have a roommate that follows the rest of the world and sleeps, you too are expected to follow suit. Monkey see, monkey do, right? Except this monkey only saw each hour change and do nothing. I felt trapped in bed, in my room, and in my body.
Ugh Mornings... the only time I would actually get about two hours of sleep, but alas the sun had finally given me permission to move about my dorm room to burn off the anxious pain energy.
I would roll out of bed and it would start all over again. Faking a smile, covering eye bags with makeup, participating in a class like a "normal", and cracking jokes about my ongoing injury. All as if I had slept.. but I fooled myself into thinking this was okay or my own coping mechanism. Something in me snapped. Who the hell cares how I sleep as long as I actually GET sleep?
So, I spoke with my generous and down-to-earth roomie about having sleepovers with each other every once in a while. I still wanted to experience having a close roommate and enjoying nights together, but it wasn't going to happen with no sleep and never-ending pain. Our "sleepovers" consisted of some of my best nights during my sophomore year. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think back on the selfless actions of Adabel. She gave me the strength to say fuck it to everything & everyone that made my pain worse and to do what I needed to feel better.
I began to sleepover with my boyfriend, using him as a body pillow to keep my arm warm and elevated(we love temperament nerves with temperature hehe). A pattern immersed. The more I slept with him in that tiny dorm bed, my bedtime anxiety lessened. Laying asleep in bed no longer felt like a chore I could never accomplish. The bed was an inviting place, a place of comfort and sanctuary. It was no longer a source of "tomorrow anxieties". So, when this worked I stuck with it. I was happier and much healthier. The only downside? Being labeled as clingy, dependent, weak, sensitive, or just downright selfish because of the amount of time spent with my boyfriend every night. What these people did not understand is that sleep is a privilege that the chronically ill yearn for. Yes, I love my boyfriend but trust me I love sleep more ;)
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