This post struck a chord with me. I hate my insomnia, but because of it, I have written some incredible poetry at 3am.
I do try to manage it, and to practise good sleep hygiene, but sometimes my pain levels and my brain conspire against me.
On those night when I am not able to write, I find listening to talkback radio, a podcast or an audiobook helps me to relax and and least rest while I am awake.
I’d love to know what works for you.
So, I’ve been limping for a few weeks with a sore heel.
It’s been much worse over the past two weeks, when I couldn’t have seen a doctor about it if I tried, unless I went to the emergency room. In my completely non-medical-professional, sucking-it-up-like-a-big-girl opinion, it wasn’t bad enough for that.
Today I saw a doctor.
Turns out it’s acute tendinitis of the Achilles.
I’m now on medication – anti-inflammatory pain killers and prednisolone – in addition to the DoTerra Deep Blue ointment that I’ve been using on it. That stuff is really good, by the way. I’ve also been told to rest it and be gentle when I do have to walk on it.
When I opened the package from the pharmacy, the information provided told me that the medication might cause drowsiness. There was also a sticker on the box that warned me that it could affect mental alertness and/or coordination. With those warnings heeded, I took my medication and went to bed.
At this point, it’s fair to point out that I’ve never been a sound sleeper. Insomnia has been a way of life for me for years. The degree of wakefulness last night, however, was unexpected, even for me.
I looked at the label on the box again this morning. It didn’t tell any lies. It certainly did affect my mental alertness. I was sitting up at 3am writing a story so good, I scared myself.
The saddest part is that I’m not even surprised by any of this. It’s exactly how my luck and my life tend to roll. Prescribed rest, though… that’s not so bad. Hello, books.
Today I was at a potluck lunch where the guests included a number of my relatives.
When I walked in, my sister-in-law congratulated me on the award I won this week for my book, Nova.
“What did you win an award for?” One of the ladies asked, with a time that suggested she was surprised that I could win an award for anything.
“Pole dancing,” I replied.
Nobody laughed. It was such a good line, too.
One lovely young lady, whom I didn’t know, said, “Really? That’s fantastic!”
Seriously, one look at me should have told her I am no pole dancer. Between my decrepit spine and my fibromyalgia, the only thing I can ever climb these days is the pain scale between 1 and 10.
“No, it was for my book. I write poetry.”
“Oh. That’s… kind of cool.”
But not as cool as pole dancing. I get it.