Find a group of middle aged women. It doesn’t matter where.
They are easy to find – their kids are grown and flown. These women form tight
bonds and gather in groups: happy hour, chick flicks, fire pits, beach condos,
thrift stores, and book clubs. Any clique, anywhere. Find them and ask “Do you
sleep?”
The answer is no. The answer is always no.
Hot flashes, monkey mind, snoring husbands, back aches, all wreak
havoc. Every night. The deep and delicious velvet black rendezvous with the
Morpheus, God of Dreams is a thing of the past. Instead, they twist, they turn,
they watch the clock, they get up, and they lie back down in a synchronized dance
that defies race, weight, socio-economic level.
Sharing the moniker “women of a certain age” they move in endless permutations
from east to west coast – a plague of sparking gray cells and twisted sheets in
the dead of the night.
I’m a member of that club and over the last few years, for
various different reasons. The reason du
jour is a chronic cough that has appeared to strut its stuff like a
greaser with a cigarette pack under his white t-shirt when the lights go out.
AT LAST my intrepid ENTs have focused on a solution – a new medication to
throttle back my cough so I can sleep– that takes time to titrate up to the
optimum dose. And last night, I found myself suddenly there. I took my pills as
directed and waited the required hour and settled into the well worn bed and
soft sheets in the spare room, where I have decamped until I conquer the cough.
I got into bed, turned off the light, and….NO COUGH. I felt a comfortable
drowsiness and immediately drifted off to dreamland, sighing in pleasure and
contentment.
Thirty minutes later, I roused, thinking I’d heard something.
I listened, heard silence, and slipped under again. Within five more minutes I
heard my name over the baby monitor perched on a nearby bookshelf. I snapped to
attention, like a well-sprung mousetrap, jerking upright in bed, heart beating,
and adrenaline screaming “ALL SYSTEMS GO!” I sped downstairs to find my mom
sitting on the edge of her bed, looking miserable.
Mary Frances is no gold brick. If she admits she is
experiencing physical discomfort, then SHE REALLY IS. Born of a time when one
didn’t complain of physical ailments, she tends to keep things to herself. She
was experiencing shortness of breath, a tightness in her chest. I found her nitroglycerin
and called 911. EMS was shortly dispatched and arrived in force – the red flashes
of their vehicles bright against the ebony of the night. Five first responders
crowded into mom’s small bedroom, reassuring her and assessing her. They knew
their stuff, things were looking okay, but a ride to the Big House was in
order. So they took Mom, in nightgown and bedroom shoes out onto the porch,
where they carried her down our front steps sitting
on her walker. (My heroes!) They
loaded her on a stretcher, lifted it into into their rescue squad and disappeared into
the night.
I gathered a bag of her belongings and ran upstairs to dress and grab
a few of my things. Sleep was a distant memory. It was 11:00 pm. (My pugs DID
NOT EVEN WAKE UP. Five strangers came into my house and took my mother away,
and they only rolled over at the small interruption to their sleep.)
Soon I was valeting the car, and entering the bright lights
of the Emergency Department. And then Night Watch began. That, too, is a common
experience. Test, and wait and draw blood and wait. Contact family and wait.
Distract patient and wait. Mom was alert and compliant, though her age and
fatigue could be seen in her pale face and puffy eyes. She received excellent
care, her team moving in their own special dance from curtained nook to
curtained nook. Mom was wheeled to Xray, wheeled to CT scan. Doctors and
nurses, a ballet of movement and thought as her team investigated her
complaint.
And dare I say Mom was …awake. Very awake. And as the hours
passed and I felt fatigue set it, she resisted it, refused to have the lights
dimmed or to lie down and rest. So we talked – I read all the Ogden Nash poems
I could find on my phone. And we talked until we were too tired to talk, 3:00,
4:00, 5:00 am. Still she resisted sleep. More blood work, more waiting, more test
results, more doctors…and still Mama sat upright. I pushed my hard wooden chair
back against the wall, angled my head under the “sharps” box and rested,
praying I wouldn’t fall asleep and fall out of my chair. My eyelids had weights
pulling them down, my head tipped back in sleep and I jerked awake again and
again.
After about 30 minutes of quiet time, there was talk of
admittance, then talk of observation. Mom began to tell everyone in a
half-joking, half-serious tone “I’m leaving.” As final test results came back negative, and
doctors and nurses from the day shift appeared, the plan to send her home with
a cardiac follow-up soon crystalized. We
were relieved and appreciative. Her chest pain had disappeared hours ago, and
other than an elevated BP, we were good to go. It was 10:30 am. We had arrived
at midnight.
I got a third wind and was able to help Mom dress and get to
the car. We were exhausted and grateful as we drove home.
Back at the ranch, we had a small brunch and all I could
think of was going to sleep. I had visions of Mom snoozing soundly and me
tiptoeing up to my own bed. I was so sleepy, I was nodding off while I worked
on the Jumble as Mom polished off a good meal. When the last crumb was
consumed, I looked at her with great expectations and asked “Mom, let me help
you get settled down for a nap.”
“A NAP?” she exclaimed. “I don’t need a NAP! I’m going to
read!”
EPILOGUE:
Mom got comfortable with her book and I got her a cold
drink. She settled in for a read. I snuck upstairs and sank into the bed. I
fell immediately into a hard sleep. And then…. about 30 minutes later, the
phone rang and when I answered, I heard my Mother-In-Law’s voice over the line:
“Hi, Jackie, I just called to see how you are doing? Have you been able to
sleep? ”
