Forty Winks or Forty Wives?
As I tossed and turned on still another sleepless night, strange voices admonished me for not living up to expectations. I was told to mow the lawn, take out the garbage, pick up my dirty socks, and get off the couch. Cold beer and Sunday afternoon football were “Verboten!,” and I was at my wits’ end. My forty wives were a literal pain in the ass. All I needed were forty winks.
I was like the 70 million other problem sleepers in this country. I just couldn’t get my act together. I might as well have climbed Mount Everest or won the Texas Lottery. My complaints were not singular either. They ran the gamut from restless legs syndrome, advanced sleep phase syndrome (ASPS), and delayed sleep phase syndrome (DSPS) to even sleep apnea.
Pain, stress, stimulant medications, anxiety, regular use of over-the-counter sleeping pills, depression, alcohol, lack of physical activity, poor sleep habits, and changes in my lifestyle and environment had all conspired against me. All I needed was forty good winks, and yet, every night I was besieged by forty bad wives.
To make matters worse, those voices in my head were exacting a toll on my performance the next day. Now, granted, I knew that the average American now sleeps about seven hours a night, about 90 minutes less than people did a century ago, but my conundrum took this to the nth degree. The convincing evidence I read that untreated sleep disorders can increase the risk of high blood pressure, coronary-artery disease, heart failure, and stroke was like a cold shower.
I also started to notice a potbelly, and getting into my pants became comparable to wearing an athletic supporter. Then I read that lack of sleep can increase the odds of developing obesity and diabetes. That was the final straw! I learned that there are five stages of sleep, and that my problems most likely stemmed not from the light sleep, transition, or deep sleep stages, but rather from the REM sleep stage (where vivid dreams appear). And my dreams were becoming “vivid,” to say the least, as one of my wives, “Wanda,” was now beginning to take on the physiognomy of a “Juan.”
I decided to consult the “Three Kings:” my mother, my naturopath, and my druggist. Warm milk, turkey, and tennis balls were my mother’s remedies for what ailed me. Warm milk (containing a precursor of melatonin), turkey (filled with sleep-inducing tryptophan), and tennis balls (sewn to the back of my T shirt to prevent snoring by keeping me on my sides) bordered on the ludicrous.
My naturopath suggested valerian, aromatherapy with chamomile and lavender, melatonin (which added to my nightmares and increased the wife-count to sixty), and hops (which padded my already-high Budweiser bill) for the modest, all-inclusive price of $250.
My druggist, on the other hand, was the most sympathetic of all. He recommended the non-addictive Sleep-Eze, Sominex, and Dormin (over-the-counter antihistamines), as well as Halcion (quick-acting but addictive) and Sonata (a romantic name for a short-acting, non-addictive sleep aid). He even suggested a prescription antidepressant called Desyrel, but warned me that it might cause painful erections.
In the end, rather than pursuing the quest ad infinitum, I decided to take control and follow my version of the Ten Commandments: 1) sleep only when drowsy; 2) maintain a regular rise time; 3) use the bedroom only for sleep and sex; 4) avoid napping during the daytime; 5) avoid caffeine within four to six hours of bedtime; 6) avoid the use of nicotine close to bedtime; 7) ban alcohol within four to six hours of bedtime; 8) avoid large meals before bedtime; 9) avoid strenuous exercise within six hours of bedtime; and 10) minimize light, noise, and extremes of temperature in the bedroom.
Alas, however, I am a sinner. Commandments were not enough. What I needed was an exorcism. So, I went to the American Academy of Sleep Medicine at www.aasmnet.org, and, I must say, although demons continue to inhabit my inner sanctum, I have begun to file for multiple divorces.
I was like the 70 million other problem sleepers in this country. I just couldn’t get my act together. I might as well have climbed Mount Everest or won the Texas Lottery. My complaints were not singular either. They ran the gamut from restless legs syndrome, advanced sleep phase syndrome (ASPS), and delayed sleep phase syndrome (DSPS) to even sleep apnea.
Pain, stress, stimulant medications, anxiety, regular use of over-the-counter sleeping pills, depression, alcohol, lack of physical activity, poor sleep habits, and changes in my lifestyle and environment had all conspired against me. All I needed was forty good winks, and yet, every night I was besieged by forty bad wives.
To make matters worse, those voices in my head were exacting a toll on my performance the next day. Now, granted, I knew that the average American now sleeps about seven hours a night, about 90 minutes less than people did a century ago, but my conundrum took this to the nth degree. The convincing evidence I read that untreated sleep disorders can increase the risk of high blood pressure, coronary-artery disease, heart failure, and stroke was like a cold shower.
I also started to notice a potbelly, and getting into my pants became comparable to wearing an athletic supporter. Then I read that lack of sleep can increase the odds of developing obesity and diabetes. That was the final straw! I learned that there are five stages of sleep, and that my problems most likely stemmed not from the light sleep, transition, or deep sleep stages, but rather from the REM sleep stage (where vivid dreams appear). And my dreams were becoming “vivid,” to say the least, as one of my wives, “Wanda,” was now beginning to take on the physiognomy of a “Juan.”
I decided to consult the “Three Kings:” my mother, my naturopath, and my druggist. Warm milk, turkey, and tennis balls were my mother’s remedies for what ailed me. Warm milk (containing a precursor of melatonin), turkey (filled with sleep-inducing tryptophan), and tennis balls (sewn to the back of my T shirt to prevent snoring by keeping me on my sides) bordered on the ludicrous.
My naturopath suggested valerian, aromatherapy with chamomile and lavender, melatonin (which added to my nightmares and increased the wife-count to sixty), and hops (which padded my already-high Budweiser bill) for the modest, all-inclusive price of $250.
My druggist, on the other hand, was the most sympathetic of all. He recommended the non-addictive Sleep-Eze, Sominex, and Dormin (over-the-counter antihistamines), as well as Halcion (quick-acting but addictive) and Sonata (a romantic name for a short-acting, non-addictive sleep aid). He even suggested a prescription antidepressant called Desyrel, but warned me that it might cause painful erections.
In the end, rather than pursuing the quest ad infinitum, I decided to take control and follow my version of the Ten Commandments: 1) sleep only when drowsy; 2) maintain a regular rise time; 3) use the bedroom only for sleep and sex; 4) avoid napping during the daytime; 5) avoid caffeine within four to six hours of bedtime; 6) avoid the use of nicotine close to bedtime; 7) ban alcohol within four to six hours of bedtime; 8) avoid large meals before bedtime; 9) avoid strenuous exercise within six hours of bedtime; and 10) minimize light, noise, and extremes of temperature in the bedroom.
Alas, however, I am a sinner. Commandments were not enough. What I needed was an exorcism. So, I went to the American Academy of Sleep Medicine at www.aasmnet.org, and, I must say, although demons continue to inhabit my inner sanctum, I have begun to file for multiple divorces.
Copyright 2004, Albert M. Balesh, M.D. All rights reserved.
posted by Dr. Al at
7/13/2006 08:13:00 AM
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