Dozer
I haven't been sleeping very well lately, what with my recent health problems and the changeable weather and the fact that there is no justice for the black man in this country. But last night was a new low.
I went to bed at 11.15pm, drifted off to sleep, and then woke up at 1.30am. There should have followed much irritable tossing and turning, but since I can't roll onto my right side, thanks to the Broken Arm of Perpetual Inconvenience, I had to restrain my turbulence. Restrained turbulence is no turbulence at all; you can't toss and turn while constantly reflecting on the musculoskeletal implications of your position.
Once I'd woken up enough to recognise that I wasn't going to just drop back to sleep, I got out of bed and took some drugs. For some reason a dose of paracetamol will often convince my body that all is well and allow me to return to my slumber. And this time was no exception... although it only took me ten minutes to fall asleep again, long before the drugs would have kicked in. So apparently I need drugs to get to sleep, but it doesn't matter what kind since it's just a Pavlovian response. Whether I take heroin or tic-tacs makes no difference, other than to my bank balance and my street cred.
But even so, two and half hours later, just as the drugs would have been wearing off, I woke up again. I turned onto my left side and slipped off to sleep once more, only to wake ten minutes later because my unsupported right arm was hurting at the break. At 4am, in the weary sleep-deprived fog, an irritating pain in that particular spot obviously means that the bone has broken again and it'll never heal and why did I have to sleep on my side and I'll die alone and unloved and I think I have a fever and possibly leprosy.
Once I calmed down I returned to lying on my back, with my arm resting on my chest, and the pain slowly ebbed, enough for me to go back to sleep. Then I woke up for a minute or two. Then slept. Then woke. Every fifteen minutes for an hour and a half. This wouldn't be so remarkable but at least two or three times I noticed as I woke that I was growling. I actually came to with a start and heard myself going "grrrrrrrrrr". In fact, I think I came to because I heard myself going "grrrrrrrrrr". It's not the sort of thing one can afford to ignore and thus tacitly excuse.
I don't want to be the sort of person who growls in his sleep. It's embarassing and disappointing, a little like dropping in unexpectedly on Jack Bauer and finding him sitting on the couch watching 'The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood'.
At least after 5.30am or so I managed to get some solid, quality sleep, unbroken by dreams, pain, discomfort or random impressions of the lower mammals. That is until 7am, when a crow landed on the roof and, judging by the sound, lost his footing and fell off, taking his drum kit and a shipping crate full of maracas with him.
I went to bed at 11.15pm, drifted off to sleep, and then woke up at 1.30am. There should have followed much irritable tossing and turning, but since I can't roll onto my right side, thanks to the Broken Arm of Perpetual Inconvenience, I had to restrain my turbulence. Restrained turbulence is no turbulence at all; you can't toss and turn while constantly reflecting on the musculoskeletal implications of your position.
Once I'd woken up enough to recognise that I wasn't going to just drop back to sleep, I got out of bed and took some drugs. For some reason a dose of paracetamol will often convince my body that all is well and allow me to return to my slumber. And this time was no exception... although it only took me ten minutes to fall asleep again, long before the drugs would have kicked in. So apparently I need drugs to get to sleep, but it doesn't matter what kind since it's just a Pavlovian response. Whether I take heroin or tic-tacs makes no difference, other than to my bank balance and my street cred.
But even so, two and half hours later, just as the drugs would have been wearing off, I woke up again. I turned onto my left side and slipped off to sleep once more, only to wake ten minutes later because my unsupported right arm was hurting at the break. At 4am, in the weary sleep-deprived fog, an irritating pain in that particular spot obviously means that the bone has broken again and it'll never heal and why did I have to sleep on my side and I'll die alone and unloved and I think I have a fever and possibly leprosy.
Once I calmed down I returned to lying on my back, with my arm resting on my chest, and the pain slowly ebbed, enough for me to go back to sleep. Then I woke up for a minute or two. Then slept. Then woke. Every fifteen minutes for an hour and a half. This wouldn't be so remarkable but at least two or three times I noticed as I woke that I was growling. I actually came to with a start and heard myself going "grrrrrrrrrr". In fact, I think I came to because I heard myself going "grrrrrrrrrr". It's not the sort of thing one can afford to ignore and thus tacitly excuse.
I don't want to be the sort of person who growls in his sleep. It's embarassing and disappointing, a little like dropping in unexpectedly on Jack Bauer and finding him sitting on the couch watching 'The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood'.
At least after 5.30am or so I managed to get some solid, quality sleep, unbroken by dreams, pain, discomfort or random impressions of the lower mammals. That is until 7am, when a crow landed on the roof and, judging by the sound, lost his footing and fell off, taking his drum kit and a shipping crate full of maracas with him.
posted by Blandwagon at 6:52 PM
8 Comments:
Wow! Great blog post... really...zzzzzzzzzzzzz
For years I denied any allegations that I snored. Until I was in a similar state that you were in and I actually heard myself snoring. What's worse, I even woke myself up on times because I was snoring too loudly.
Luckily, my perpetual cycle of colds/allergies wore off when I became older. And then I finally found a woman that would share a bed with me.
What a happy ending!
Great, Urban Pedestrian. It's nice to know I can put everyone to sleep except myself.
And be.bart, I know there's a joke to be made from "found a woman that would share a bed with me" and "happy ending", but I just can't quite grasp it.
I found myself sentenced to a living room chair for the two weeks my arm was be-slung, due to the tossing and turning.
Solved the sleep problems, but now I'm used to sitting up reading and listening to mp3's before bed.
How long until you are returned to normal functionality?
I'm close to achieving basic normal functionality. I can go all day without wearing the sling (except at night), I've been able to drive with both hands for a few days now, and I have an almost fully restored range of movement. However I still can't lift anything heavy or put any weight on it.
On my six week accident anniversary, when I next see my doctor, I should have a more professional appraisal.
Have you noticed that you only have trouble sleeping on nights where you have to go to work/get up specially early the next day? Bleah.
And - hooray for driving! In a one-horse town like Perth, not having a car is like not having an arm ... you know what I mean.
I suggest you romance your arm for your six-week anniversary, perhaps with some nice rose-scented lotion.
I will never be able to get the image of Jack Bauer watching the "Ya-Ya Sisterhood" out of my head. Thank you for that. :)
As for the growling, perhaps it was a response to your subconscious telling you that you must give vent to your atavistic rage at being unable to find an appropriate sofa? Lycanthropic expressionism is, paradoxically, the new vogue in refined society vis-a-vis externalising feelings of angst.
Or perhaps it was because you realised that perhaps even MST3K can't redeem a Roger Corman movie?
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