17 Interesting Facts About Human Sleep

I'm still researching the topic of sleep for a series of articles I'm writing for my local newspaper. Recently I read a study published by the American National Sleep Foundation in 2008. Here are 17 fascinating facts from that study, facts that might make a difference to our perception of the importance of consistent sleep for optimal health. 

1. In general, most healthy adults need seven to nine hours of sleep each night. However, some people are able to function without sleepiness or drowsiness after as little as six hours of sleep. And others can’t perform at their best unless they’ve slept ten hours
2. Newborns sleep about 14 to 17 hours a day on an irregular schedule with periods of one to three hours spent awake. (This must refer to newborns in general, as I've heard many a new Mom's despair when her baby sleeps much less than she had been led to expect.)
3. When infants are regularly put to bed drowsy but not asleep, they are more likely to become "self- soothers," which lets them fall asleep independently at bedtime and soothe themselves back to sleep should they wake during the night.
4. Sleep is just as important to our wellbeing as diet and exercise.
5. Man is the only mammal that willingly delays sleep.
6. One of the primary causes of excessive sleepiness among Americans (and Canadians, I'd bet) is self-imposed sleep deprivation.
7. In general, regular exercise makes it easier to fall asleep and contributes to sounder sleep. But we need to be careful; exercising sporadically or right before going to bed can make falling asleep more difficult.
8. Divorced, widowed and separated people report more insomnia. (Hmm, so those of us who live with a snorer can ditch that "solution.")
9. We naturally feel tired at two different times of the day: about 2:00 AM and 2:00 PM. This natural dip in alertness is primarily responsible for the "post-lunch dip."
10. Sleep is just as important to our health and wellbeing as diet and exercise.
11. According to the International Classifications of Sleep Disorders, shift workers are at increased risk for a variety of chronic illnesses such as cardiovascular and gastrointestinal diseases.
12. Our bodies never adjust to shift work!
13. There are individual differences in our need to nap. Some adults and children need to sleep a few minutes at varying points in the day. However, the majority of teenagers probably want to nap in the afternoon because they are not sleeping enough at night.
14. Snoring is the primary cause of sleep disruption for approximately 90 million American adults; 37 million on a regular basis. (In our house that's true for the snorer and the partner of the snorer.)
15. According to the results of NSF's 2008 Sleep in America poll, 36 percent of American drive drowsy or fall asleep while driving. (Now that's downright scary!)
16. People who don’t get enough sleep are more likely to have bigger appetites due to the fact that their leptin levels (leptin is an appetite-regulating hormone) fall, promoting appetite increase.  (So get regular, healthy sleep and lose weight!)
17. Rates of insomnia tend to increase as a function of age, but most often the sleep disturbance is attributable to some other medical condition.

As a person who lives with a chronic snorer and has chronic insomnia herself, I found some of these conclusions very hopeful.  When we understand what we are dealing with and the importance of changing what we can to give ourselves every chance of living well and happy, we are one step closer to becoming the best we can be at any stage of our lives.

SLEEP

Recently I’ve been researching sleep for a series of mental health articles I’m writing for my local newspaper.  The findings are pretty interesting.  Here’s some of the information that went into the first article.  I’ll share more with you in future as I progress through the articles.

Did you know that sleep deprivation was a factor in several major disasters in recent history: for example the 1979 nuclear accident at Three Mile Island, the huge Exxon Valdez oil spill, and the 1986 nuclear meltdown at Chernobyl?  Most people who are chronically short of sleep don’t recognize the impact on their cognitive and mental health.

Do you often forget things that you feel you should know?  Is it difficult to concentrate on complex assignments?  Do you sleep fewer than six hours per night?  If so, you’re probably not sleeping enough to function well.  Lack of sleep can slow down clear thinking and emotional stability.  Studies show that chronic excessive sleepiness can hinder work performance, spoil important relationships, and lead to mood problems like depression and anger.

You may, like many people, think of sleep as a luxury, just a little downtime.  And you may be aware that you feel better when you’ve slept well and worse when you haven’t.  But when life gets busy, sleep may be the first thing you sacrifice to get everything done. The truth is that most of these tasks would be quicker and easier if you ensured that you slept well and long enough every night.  Consistent sleep is essential to our health.

 Research has shown that lack of sleep can alter a person’s mood significantly causing irritability and anger and may also lessen the ability to cope with stress in healthy ways.  Studies have established a definite correlation between the “walking tired” and the rising number of people who sit and seethe in traffic jams or initiate quarrels with other people.  A recent poll of sleep-deprived people showed that they were also less likely than those who sleep well to exercise, eat a healthy diet, have sex, and enjoy leisure activities because of their daytime sleepiness.  One expert on the impacts of sleep deprivation summed it up, “Over time, impaired memory, mood, and other functions become a chronic way of life.  In the long term, this can affect your job or relationships.”

Did you know that chronic sleepiness also puts you at greater risk for depression?  The two conditions are so closely linked that sleep specialists can’t always determine which came first in their patients.  This is because sleep and mood affect each other so greatly.  Counsellors and mental health practitioners know that it’s not uncommon for people who frequently don’t get enough sleep to become depressed or for people who are already depressed to experience negative and harmful changes in their sleeping patterns and habits.

You may think that if you’re keeping up with most things in your life and not losing your temper too often, it won’t really matter if you’re not sleeping enough.  But sleep actually improves your energy levels, learning capabilities, memory, and insight.  That’s because on the cellular level, your body is literally repairing and restoring itself when you sleep. Without that regular repair and restoration, you’ll eventually find it more difficult to do what you want – physically, mentally, or emotionally.  Getting enough sleep is analogous to depositing energy into your mental, emotional, and physical bank account.  When you force yourself to carry on as usual after poor or insufficient sleep, your energy becomes “overdrawn.” This can go on for only a very short time before the effects begin to cripple your regular functioning.

Unfortunately, catching up on missed sleep is not merely a matter of sleeping in on weekends. For example, if you get fewer than six hours of sleep each night for a week, you’ve accumulated a full night’s sleep deficit, too much to make up on the weekend. If you continue this pattern for weeks or months, you may never catch up on your sleep. But the good news is that you can catch up if you gradually change your habits and lifestyle to make sufficient sleep possible again on a regular basis.

Happy snoozing!

Reality Check

Finally our new home is in some semblance of order.  I no longer have to invite my dog to be a guest writer!  It's a little embarrassing to admit we have so much "stuff" that it took almost a month to sort, organize, and place everything.  We have fewer rooms and less square footage than in our previous home, so our aim was to downsize.

"Be ruthless," we told each other while we were sorting and disposing of years of accumulated possessions on our previous country mile.  We were so pleased with the results of our labours: many items shared with our children and their families, bags and bags of donations to the local used goods charity, even more bags of recyclables carted away, and box after box of garbage set out on the road several weeks in a row.  We sold many superfluous pieces of furniture as well as freezers, heaters, a riding mower, and even a hot tub!

And, no sooner had we begun unpacking at our new address, than we realized that we hadn't been ruthless enough.  Out went another couch, several chairs, small tables, many ornaments, knick knacks, and pictures, a chain saw, and all kinds of miscellany.  You're probably thinking that there can't be much left but the truth is that despite all the shedding of extra goods, we still have a lovely, comfortable, and well-appointed new home here on our new country mile.

So why am I embarrassed?  What we disposed of with two rounds of weeks of work added up to enough goods to provide for several families in a third world nation.  And the groceries and clothing we moved to the new home would likely feed and clothe those families for a long time also.  It doesn't feel right that two people should be in possession of such wealth when so many people in the world are cold, hungry, and needy.

My new life resolution is to strive to live more simply, use fewer products, shop less, recycle more, and be content with the riches I have.  I'm more blessed than I ever suspected, mainly because I wasn't paying attention to all I have.

We Moved!

Hi, it's me,  Daisy again.  

 Mommy says I should post again because she's still so busy with moving.  I really wish she would sit down and rest more.  Then maybe her feet wouldn't hurt so much.  It seems silly to me: we moved because Mommy's arthritis in her feet is so bad that she needs a smaller house and smaller yard with not so much work to do.  But ever since we got here, all she does is work!  It just doesn't make sense.

I think the problem is those things she calls boxes.  She's so pleased every time she empties one but I don't think she realizes that opening a box and taking things out merely messes up the room she just finished organizing.  She should just ignore those boxes and put her feet up.

I really like our new home.  We're still in the country but we have lots of neighbours close by.  Mommy's happy because we have lots of trees and so do all our neighbours.  Lots of other dogs live here, too and I make sure to bay at every single one that's walking his Mommy or Daddy in the evenings.  I just learned how to bay and I can do it really loud, even louder than Baxter.

Baxter likes it here too, although he's not pleased that we didn't bring his favourite couch. The only couch he and I are allowed to be on is the one in the sunroom.  We're not supposed to go on the living room furniture but I do anyway when Mommy isn't looking. What does she expect, that we'll just lie on the floor?

See, I do lie on the floor sometimes but surely she doesn't think I'm going to live there?

Anyway, we moved and we're all busy figuring out where everything is now.  I like running on the smooth floors and sliding to a stop near the end of the hallway.  It's so much more fun than the carpet that was all over the old house.  I'm having such a good time and trying so hard to behave myself, I don't understand why Mommy still calls me "devil dog" so often.  Even Daddy calls me that sometimes ... And he's the one who usually says I'm so cute.  I think moving has changed them both and, even though it was fun, I hope we never have to do it again.

Daisy Doodle

Hi there, my name is Daisy.  I live on Josi's country mile with her and "the squire" and I'm the guest writer for this blog today.

 

Occasionally I'm not even sure that Daisy is my name.  Sometimes my people call me "No! Down!"  Actually they call me that a lot.  My "Mommy" sometimes calls me "devil dog."  I don't even know what that means .... but it doesn't sound like a good thing.  This business of names is very confusing.

I'm a baby beagle, just eight months old.  I like to jump and run and play.  One of the best games I know is to run into the bathroom, jump at the garbage can on the counter (why would they keep their garbage can on the counter?), grab something out of the can, and run away as fast as I can while Mommy and Daddy chase me and holler "No! Bad dog!"  They really get into it; they chase me until they get it back ... but it's garbage, right?  I don't see why it's so important they get it back; they were just going to throw it away anyway.  But I can't play that game very often anymore.  For some reason, they've started keeping the bathroom door closed all the time.

Do you think I’m cute?  Daddy says I am his cute little girl.

And I'm lucky, I guess, because Mommy keeps saying I'm lucky I'm cute!  So I'm pretty sure that's a good thing.  A little while ago she said I'm a "good dog."  I don't even know what that means.  I don't think I have to worry about it, though, because she hardly ever says it.

Lately Mommy and Daddy have been acting strange. They keep taking things out of cupboards and closets and putting them in boxes.  Then they put the boxes in the car, put me and my buddy, Baxter into our kennels, and they get in the car and drive away.  When they come back, the boxes are gone.  Just completely disappeared!  They call it moving, whatever that is.  I'm getting scared they might put me in the car next!

I guess I have to do that "good dog" thing more, so they never take me in the car and come back without me.  When I do this chewing-my-bone thing, they seem to like it.  Is that being a good dog?

Running and jumping and chewing up their things is just so much more fun and I really don't know how to be anything but a baby beagle.  So I'll just keep doodling around having fun and hope for the best.

 P.S. Mommy says not to worry if there aren't many posts for a little while.  They're going to be busy moving (as long as they don't stick me into one of those boxes!) and might have to be without Internet for a little while.  She says she'll post something as soon as she can after the move.  Bye!

Nature Celebrates Canada Day

At about 10:30 on the evening of July 1, the Squire and I settled ourselves in the sun room to enjoy the Canada Day fireworks display which is almost perfectly visible through the southeast windows of that room.

High above the trees still faintly silhouetted against the last light rode a bright orange, rounded full moon. The almost eerie effect was due to the smoke in the air wafted our way from forest fires burning in Saskatchewan. It was such a beautiful orb shining so brightly and soon laced over by the finest branches as it moved calmly on its appointed course. This is beautiful enough on its own to warrant sitting here for a while, I thought.

No sooner was the thought complete than half a dozen twinkling fireflies made their appearance, flitting erratically through the shrubs, trees, and grasses in the marshy hollow directly below our sun room. At one point fifteen or twenty of them danced their way through the shadows in varying patterns at different heights. Mother Nature is pulling out all the stops, I suggested to the Squire, perhaps she decided to take advantage of our attention and provide her own show for us.

And then the fireworks - beautiful, colourful, and impressive as always. The sky was lit with every colour under the rainbow in exploding blossoms of light. Some dazzled just below the moon; others were even "over the moon." I enjoyed every sparkling moment, as I always do.

 And when the fireworks were finished, when human beings had done all they could to light up the night ... the orange moon sailed serenely on her way and the fireflies still blinked their cheery celebration.

Mother Nature: 10             Humans: 1

SOLD: My Country Mile

I'm sitting on the deck here at the end of my country mile, reflecting on just having sold our house and property.  Living here has nourished my soul for almost ten years now.  For its well being, my soul needs close contact with nature and I've had it in generous amounts.  This country mile has been my refuge from most of life's stresses.  I've laughed and cried and prayed here more than most of you, dear readers, will ever know.  I've met God here in amazing ways but primarily in the trees.

Primitive cultures used to erect tall poles to give them a sense of connection with their gods who lived in the sky.  While I don't believe that I need height to connect with God, who is every where and in everything, there is something about the sight of tall trees sharp in contrast to the blue sky or the silhouetted against a vivid sunset that simply makes me want to pray.

And so, I'm grieving the losses I'll experience when we leave here in a month or so: the tall pines that grace our front yard, lifting their skirts to sway and dance in the breezes as the evening sunlight casts them in shadow and gold; 

the solitude of Nature quietly at work in her eternal ways; the lush Virginia Creeper that softly covers every structure it reaches out to in a flourish of green; the wrens and chipping sparrows that nest in it each year; 

the hummingbirds that scold furiously if the squire is a little too slow to refill their feeders; and the moonlight late on a winter night, casting its elegant shadows on the sparkle of fresh fallen snow.  Oh, yes, the moonlight in the wilderness ...

At the same time, I'm eagerly anticipating the move to a new and different country mile, one that ends in a lovely retirement community.  There will be amenities such as friendly neighbours close by, community events, a recreation center with a pool, potential new friendships, and trees.  Oh yes, we wouldn't dream of moving somewhere without lots of trees.  At our new home, the trees nestle closer, reaching up and over to shade and protect our yard and house.  The whole community is populated by trees, sees a variety of wildlife, and enjoys all the birds and more that we share our present country mile with.

Presently my heart is a house divided.  I know we need to leave our present country mile ... but really don't want to do that.  At the same time, I'm excited and looking forward to being settled in our new home and enjoying a brand new country mile.

The Best Years: A Vignette in Three Parts - Part Three

When the evening of the Sadie Hawkins Dance finally came, she went for a long walk, carefully avoiding the end of town where the school was now full of music and dancing.  But an uncaring wind carried snatches of rock ’n roll music to agitate the worm of shame each time she managed to convince herself she was glad Brent hadn’t said yes.  It probably wasn’t any fun at all and it would be so awkward and embarrassing to have to be there, pretending she was enjoying herself.

Her friend who had helped with the corsage had stopped asking if she had heard from Brent.  No one else knew.  Sometimes she wondered if her mother might have guessed at her shame, for surely Mom had seen the corsage, so carefully prepared and gaily bedecked.  But she didn't want to hear Mom reassuring her that it would all be better when she was older or saying that it was Brent's loss if he was too stupid to see what a special person she was.

For a short time she even wondered what Brent was doing tonight, what he might be thinking.  Had he accepted an invitation from someone else?  Was he sitting alone at home, hoping the phone wouldn’t ring?  Or was he snickering at what she had tried to do, to step out of her place and be someone she wasn’t?  She, who had hoped to say casually, as though it were a common occurrence for her, “oh yes, when Brent and I were at the Sadie Hawkins dance…” was now sneaking along dark streets hoping not to meet anyone she knew.

But of course, she did meet someone.  It was Mrs. McGrath, who had been her Grade 5 teacher, retired now and out walking her yappy little dog.  Between the inane shrill yaps Mrs. McGrath exclaimed, “Oh you dear girl, you should be at the dance.  Don’t miss out on the fun.  The high school years are the best years of your life.”

“Yes, Mrs. McGrath.  Goodnight, Mrs. McGrath.”  She was able to say the words despite the worm in her stomach that had slithered high enough to gag her throat.  Then she continued walking until she felt she couldn’t walk anymore.  And walked still more before she went home to destroy – calmly, thoroughly, and systematically – the hideous corsage that lay completed on her bed.

(The End)

The Best Years: A Vignette in Three Parts - Part Two

But the longing to be part of the scene just would not ease.  So if it couldn’t be David or Mike or one of the cool guys, then whom could she choose?  “Pick a nice boy from church,” her mother would have said.  The only boy of her class that she ever saw in church was Brent – shaggy-haired, sallow-skinned, overweight – but he was at least as tall as she was.  Not among the most popular of the guys but that meant that the chances of him refusing her were much less.

After days of a nervous stomach, after changing her mind more often than she could count – she would call him right now, she would wait until the date was closer, she wouldn’t go to the dance at all, she wanted to go, perhaps she should just call and get it over with – it was with a sense of doom that she finally dialed his number and asked to speak to Brent.  “Bre-ent, it's a gi-irl!” called the younger sibling who had answered the phone at his house.  

When Brent finally came on the line she explained the purpose of her call in a breathy, shaky voice, needing to swallow in all the wrong places, and finished with a gulp, “um, so I wondered if you would be my date … if you want to?”

To all of which Brent merely mumbled something that sounded like, “Maybe, I’ll let you know.”  She had used every minuscule grain of the little confidence she’d been able to summon and was too shaken to press the point.  Now she could only say, “Um, okay, thanks.”  Then she concentrated on making her shaking hand put the receiver down very gently, without dropping it.

She might have a date!  Well, she thought she had a date ... didn't she?  Surely it was enough assurance to begin spending her babysitting money on stuffed toys, ribbons, candy, and trimmings to make an outrageous corsage as the other girls who were sure of their dates were doing.  She enlisted the help of her best friend who was not very creative either and kept offering cynical comments about not even being sure of having a date and, if such a commitment were actually in existence, the likelihood of Brent refusing to wear their awkward creation.

The agonizing question as the day drew nearer remained: did she have a date?  Would he call to say yes or no?  Or should she call him again?  But that might look too desperate.  If he wanted to go with her, why didn’t he call?  Or had his “maybe” really meant “no?”  It was really, when all was said and done, the stupidest idea she had ever had.  A worm of embarrassment and shame slithered uneasily somewhere in the region of her gut.  She’d have given anything never to have made that call.

(Part Three coming soon.)

The Best Years: A Vignette in Three Parts - Part One

“Enjoy these years,” they always told her, those adults who hadn’t a clue anymore.  “These are the best years of your life.”   Words that invariably made her shudder, even now that she was an adult.

She’d always been shy, fearful actually.  Despite excellent grades and above average intelligence, or perhaps because of them, and despite loving affirmations from her parents, the grains of her confidence barely covered the bottom of a deep empty cup.  She dreamed big, thanks to her father but chose safety, thanks to her self.

Only once when she was fifteen did she dare leave the safe zone.  A Sadie Hawkins dance was announced at school for a Friday evening in November.  She realized she could invite the boy she secretly admired.  This night she would not stand awkwardly with the other unchosen girls and watch prettier and shorter girls dance with the popular boys while she pretended to be fascinated by the conversation of the girl next to her who was also pretending that she didn’t care that she hadn’t been asked to dance.

Something deep inside her stirred with the faintest glow of delight – it wouldn’t do to get too excited yet – but now David could be hers for an entire evening.  Perhaps even for a slow dance … oh but would it matter that she, tall for her age and too slim for her height (and wasn’t slim such an elegant word, so much nicer than skinny) would tower over him as they danced.

And that was how easily the quiver of delight became a shiver of anxiety.  No, it wouldn’t do, not at all of course.  What had made her think that good-looking, popular, but shorter David would accept a date from her?  Surely Joanna or Barb would ask him and naturally he would accept.  Then he might laugh that she, tall and awkward, had dared to think that he, popular and handsome, would let himself be seen with her at the social event of the term.

(Part Two coming soon.)

For Sale: My Country Mile

It breaks my heart to post this, but it's true; my beloved home at the end of my favourite country mile is for sale.  Thanks to my worsening arthritis and a need to cut back on my work hours, the squire and I have made the difficult decision to downsize.

So, in the interests of a quick sale, we have taken pictures of our home for the realtor's ads and they turned out so well that I'm tempted to say, "Let's not sell; let's find a way we can mange to stay here forever."  But that's not realistic and we both know it.

Here's how my house looks near the end of a sunny spring day when it's bathed in the late afternoon sunlight.

And here's one of my favourite spring shots looking towards the house from near the lower patio.

Finally, this is one of the interior, highlighting how spacious it is and how cozy the warm pine ceiling makes it feel.

It's going to be hard to leave this particular country mile, but I'm consoled that my new home is also warm and inviting and, while it's not as big as our present home, it's plenty big enough for the squire and me and our two beagles.  And best of all, although it's located in the heart of a retirement community, the whole community is out in the country!  So, as soon as our home sells, it's a new country mile for us!

Do I Look Like I Care?

The title of today's post is a rather nasty phrase, when spoken in the sarcastic and condescending voice of a teenager.  I have several teenaged clients in my practice most of the time and I hear that phrase occasionally when the client is describing his or her response to another teen's conversation.  I understand completely that it's not a nice thing to have said to you.

I was raised to be polite so I wouldn't have dreamed of using the phrase in that tone of voice to anyone, no matter how bored I might have been or how badly I wanted to escape a conversation.  But those words popped into my mind recently after a conversation with a daughter-in-law.  I had been describing to her my first overseas flight on my own when I was 18 and flew to Germany to visit relatives after graduation.  There was a layover of several hours in Montreal and I described to my daughter-in-law that I was so nervous about missing my connection that I found the departure gate immediately and parked myself on a seat in sight of it and refused to leave it.

And that's how I wound up trapped by a lady who worked in one of the airport restaurant kitchens and had a discount on a flight to visit family overseas.  I found all this out because she began to talk and I was too polite to get up and move away or even pretend to read in hopes of discouraging her.  She told me the names of all her grandchildren, their likes and dislikes, their special talents, and showed me photos of them.  She spoke of her work and some of her coworkers.

Most of them, I learned, were good to work with and were "team players," but there was one who was impossible to work with.  This coworker insisted on rinsing lettuce for salads in warm water, not cold as the staff was instructed to do.  My new "friend" was quite upset that she sometimes was blamed for limp salads when all along she knew it was the coworker who was causing that result.  Really now, wasn't that just terribly unfair?

If the phrase, "do I look like I care?" had been in use when I was 18, I might have thought of it then.  This lady went on and on, insisting I had to see what an injustice was being done to her.  I don't recall my responses but I'm pretty sure they weren't what she wanted because she continued to tell her story over and over, getting more passionate and more adamant that I had to see it her way with each telling.  As I recall, escape didn't come until her flight was called and she had no choice but to leave.  And when she was gone I found myself thinking that she was pretty weird, to go on like that to a perfect stranger about something so trivial.

Of course now that I have trained to be a psychotherapist and have worked with clients for years, I know how to interpret such stories, understand the significance of an oft-repeated story or theme, and recognize when validation or interpretation are required.  But as a shy teenager, taught to respect her elders and too polite to end the conversation, I missed all of that.  I wasn't even planning yet to make counselling my career; I was quite certain I was going to be a high school English teacher.  In hindsight I can also see that I had none of the skills needed to manage that conversation or, better yet, to be of service to that lady.

But despite all my failings, apparently I looked like I cared.  And so many of my clients tell me now, many years later.

Yesterday and Tomorrow

Today I read an article about writing, part of a newsletter I receive electronically from Writer’s Digest, a writing magazine I subscribe to.  The topic of the article was how to get started on a writing project or get back to it if you’ve been away from it for a while.  The advice I took away from the article was all about how to “kick start” my writing again.

Written by Cheryl Pon, a guest writer for the site, it offered several ways to get the creative juices flowing, even if you have to be busy with other tasks. When you’re waiting your turn at the doctor’s office, for example, try imagining the main character of your work in progress in a similar situation.  Why might s/he be there and what news might be imparted by the doctor?  How is your character likely to react to good news? to bad news?  How will receiving a medical diagnosis change your character’s future actions … or even the plot of the novel or short story the character features in?

Even if a visit to the doctor or a medical diagnosis never make it into the body of the work you’re creating, you’ve learned something about your character by imagining his/her responses to such a situation.  With this extra layer of understanding about what makes him or her tick, you can write a much more authentic character.

“But tomorrows become empty yesterdays if you don’t write today.”  This piece of advice from the same article has to be the best ever motivational statement for writers and also the best advice for all those “wannabe” writers who plan to write “someday.”  Yes, we can dream of writing, plan for writing, and read about writing; those are all helpful pursuits … to a point.  But in the end, my “end” had better be firmly planted in a chair in front of my computer or my notebook and I had better be moving words from my brain onto a page.  Then, and only then, am I actually writing. 

And tomorrow will not become another empty yesterday.

The Adventure of Life

Whoever said that life is an adventure certainly knew what he or she spoke of.  My life adventure has been sideways, upside down, betwixt and between, and only occasionally right side up, for over a year now.

And why haven't I been posting about it, you might well ask.  Well, that's part of the adventure of this particular life.  For the past year I've been taking an antidepressant because I realized I was so depressed that I was finding writing a chore and having to force myself to meet deadlines.  I believe the depression began when my beloved father died and was aggravated by my increasing pain levels.  I took too long to recognize the change in me for what it was and therefore didn't get help as soon as I should have.

But the help that I finally received from my doctor was an antidepressant that was also known to decrease the perception of pain for sufferers of chronic pain.  It sounded too good to be true and I was delighted to receive the prescription in March of 2014 and begin taking the medication.  Well... you know what they say about things that are too good to be true!

It certainly seemed good at first.  The medication caused very little change in my pain levels but it initially lifted my spirits and gave me a much more positive outlook on life.  I was more interested in writing and reading over the summer and even took on a project to write a play for a school Christmas production.  By the time the deadline for the play arrived, however, I had to force myself to finish it and was having trouble meeting other deadlines.  I began sleeping very poorly, was continually overtired, and felt overwhelmed even when my schedule wasn't overly busy.

A series of visits to a podiatrist confirmed that the bones of my left foot had collapsed and those in the right foot were well on their way.  Knowing that my feet were getting worse and that no antidepressant was going to stop that pain, I asked my doctor for permission and instructions to discontinue the antidepressant.  I followed the protocol he outlined and got sick in a variety of unpleasant ways.  But I knew that withdrawal symptoms for a few days aren't unusual when discontinuing antidepressant medication, so I wasn't too worried.

And now, only a few days later, I have a horrible head cold and a tightly congested chest.  My thinking is so fuzzy that I can barely beat the computer at the beginning levels of Scrabble, where I used to whip it  soundly at higher levels.  My ability to read is limited to a few paragraphs at a time and … I'm itching to write!  Hallelujah!  I want to write!

Now I just have to be patient and wait for my poor head to stop pounding and my eyes to be able to focus for more than a few minutes. It has taken me three days to write this post but I'm delighted that I'm writing, even if its only a few minutes at a time.  I'm itching to be healthy enough to write and read and plot and dream up ideas again.