Sleep is always a challenge for me. To achieve it, I take five (5) medications: Seroquel, clonazepam, lorazepam, zolpidem, and lithium. Yes, I know there are six pills in the picture. That is because of the two Seroquel. For those who are new to my blog, I take all these poisons due to PTSD incurred courtesy of childhood abuse and a stint on the streets as a teenage runaway, complete with serial rapes. You can read all about it here.
And as if all those pills weren’t enough, I use about half an ounce of some kind of liquor as an adjuvant (enhancer). My favorite is Ouzo, as it leaves a lovely trace of anise on my palate, as my knockout pills waft me to sleep. Thats one of the reasons I don’t practice medicine anymore: you just can’t field nighttime medical emergencies while hammered on six kinds of meds (I regard the Ouzo as one of them).
If something manages to wake me at night, an earthquake for instance, or the part of the ceiling directly above my bed falling down, or a painfully full bladder (thank God I do wake up for that), I stumble through whatever is necessary to remove myself from the annoyance. I imagine I would look, to an innocent observer, rather like a hapless zombie that has feasted upon too many alcoholics, or perhaps upon me: too full of sedatives to even try to escape.
So imagine my annoyance when my Galaxy SIII, only slightly smaller than an iPad, rumbled to life at 2 AM, buzzing and tinkling its bell tone indicating an incoming text.
I must have been in the light part of my sleep cycle (otherwise it could have hit me in the head and I wouldn’t have turned a hair), because I awoke with a start that sent Noga, my Lhasa Apso, scurrying to the foot of the bed, as I sat bolt upright as if on springs.
My first thought was it must be some mother who had fed her baby strawberry jello, and now its diaper was shockingly red. Then I remembered: I am no longer in practice as a pediatrician, due to my mental illness and its Machiavellian treatments. Then a more chilling thought occurred to me: what if something had happened to some family member, God forbid? But that would entail a phone call from the appropriate authorities, not a text.
At last I wrenched myself far enough away from drugged stupor to actually look at the phone. MMS, it said. I touched the “view” button.
Oh fer cryin’ out loud. This had to be from Floyd, my pervy neighbor. Who else would send me a photo of his large and rampant, uh, you know….in the middle of the fricking night? He must have been pickled. Deleted the goddam thing and lay back down.
Then I sat up again. I was thirsty. All these drugs make my mouth dry. I felt around for my bottle of Gerolsteiner that I usually keep by the bed. I love Gerolsteiner: it has lots of minerals in it, good for your body. And it tastes good, too. Shit, it wasn’t anywhere around. I got out of bed and stumped into the dark kitchen. Ah, there was the bottle: right next to the sink. Why the hell did I leave it there? Must have got distracted while brushing my teeth. Ah well. Here it was, anyway.
I unscrewed the cap and took a deep chug.
Jeezus Christ and all his disciples, what the hell was this!? Oh fuck, it was the Ouzo! What was is doing next to the sink?? What am I gonna do now? I musta just ingested a cup of it. And on top of all these meds….should I make myself throw up? That’s what I would tell someone else. I hate to throw up. I’ll do anything to avoid it.
Well shit, if I’m gonna die I may as well go back to bed. But now I really need the Gerolsteiner, to quell the burning in my stomach. I found a new bottle on the shelf and drank as much of it as I could, hoping to dilute the Ouzo enough so I wouldn’t die immediately of drug interactions. Maybe gently in my sleep, to be found some days later when I didn’t answer my phone. Morbid thoughts. Damn phone.
I stumbled toward the bed, holding onto the furniture to keep from falling down.
Damn. Now my bladder was grumbling and required immediate attention. I looked outside. Raining cats and dogs. No effing way I was going to make my way to the outhouse in this storm, especially in my present compromised condition. For you newbies, just to let you know, my plumbing situation is non-standard. ’Nuff said.
I got out the pee jar, which I keep under the bed for such emergencies. (No picture of the pee jar, sorry. Too personal.)
Squatting over the pee jar, I let the excess water drain out with relief. Shit, shit, and more shit! Apparently I had not remembered to empty the pee jar since its last use, and now there was pee all over the floor. Time to get the mop. (No picture of this either.)
After cleaning up as much of the mess as I could in my present condition, I fell into bed and drifted into a semi-comatose state resembling sleep. But not for long. ”Brrrr, bling!” went my phone. I picked the damn thing up and threw it across the room. It smashed into the closet door. Good thing I bought the insurance.