Everyday when I leave work I have to make the decision about how I'm going to spend the next few hours before I can go to sleep. I know that I will have either a beer or a glass or two of wine when I get home. (Although I usually, eat something, food is optional). The more important decision is whether to take 1/2 an Ativan before I leave work, or try to postpone it until closer to bedtime, in which case it may help me sleep more soundly combined with the Ambien.
Truthfully, there hasn't been one day since Maxx was diagnosed that I have not taken some form of medication either to quell my anxiety, panic, horror, desperation, hopelessness, or to help me sleep for a few hours. During the first year, I took a wider variety. Now, although it remains a given that I take something at some point during my waking hours, I have worked out a dosing schedule that does not in any way impede my ability to function. In fact, like those who are prescribed Methadone, without some form of medical "de-enhancement," I am not able to maintain any kind of balance at all. So, based on careful calculations and an internal check of how close to the edge I am at any particular point in the day, I consider all upcoming options and any evening requirements, and choose the time when I know the effects will be most beneficial.
This evening instead of taking the Ativan, I mistakenly took 1/2 a Valium. I realized as soon as the bitter pill dissolved on my tongue, what it was. I didn't really care because 1/2 of anything is always better than nothing and the results vary little. Ativan calms me a bit, but does not make me sleepy. Valium, on the other hand does. So after dinner, I became drowsy and went to lie down. It occured to me as I dozed that the house was quiet for perhaps 30 minutes. The dogs had stopped barking, my husband was on the computer and the TV was off. There were no slamming car doors, or voices from the neighboring house. For just this short time, because of the quiet inside and out, my stomach stopped hurting. My stomach has bothered me for two years. It is rare that I am not constantly plagued by a sense of gripping tension in my gut. I am not always conscious of it, but when I feel it relaxing, is when I know that it is always constricted with stress.
I lay in the darkened bedroom for perhaps 45 minutes. I thought about the years when a nap after work was a simple pleasure. I could rest for an hour without a sick stomach, or startling at every sound, gasping when a cupboard slammed in the next room. I used to fall asleep with the sound of Maxx's basketball banging against the garage door outside my bedroom window. In those days the slam of his ball, the shake of the wall each time it hit the wooden door and bounced back onto the slanted, cracked driveway became a soothing lullaby of white noise. He was home where he belonged shooting hoops, doing something he loved. I cradled the rhythmic repitition of sound in my head as I drifted and slept. Maxx...slam, thud...Maxx...slam, thud...Maxx was home. I could rest. I could dream. He was safe, so was I.
Truthfully, there hasn't been one day since Maxx was diagnosed that I have not taken some form of medication either to quell my anxiety, panic, horror, desperation, hopelessness, or to help me sleep for a few hours. During the first year, I took a wider variety. Now, although it remains a given that I take something at some point during my waking hours, I have worked out a dosing schedule that does not in any way impede my ability to function. In fact, like those who are prescribed Methadone, without some form of medical "de-enhancement," I am not able to maintain any kind of balance at all. So, based on careful calculations and an internal check of how close to the edge I am at any particular point in the day, I consider all upcoming options and any evening requirements, and choose the time when I know the effects will be most beneficial.
This evening instead of taking the Ativan, I mistakenly took 1/2 a Valium. I realized as soon as the bitter pill dissolved on my tongue, what it was. I didn't really care because 1/2 of anything is always better than nothing and the results vary little. Ativan calms me a bit, but does not make me sleepy. Valium, on the other hand does. So after dinner, I became drowsy and went to lie down. It occured to me as I dozed that the house was quiet for perhaps 30 minutes. The dogs had stopped barking, my husband was on the computer and the TV was off. There were no slamming car doors, or voices from the neighboring house. For just this short time, because of the quiet inside and out, my stomach stopped hurting. My stomach has bothered me for two years. It is rare that I am not constantly plagued by a sense of gripping tension in my gut. I am not always conscious of it, but when I feel it relaxing, is when I know that it is always constricted with stress.
I lay in the darkened bedroom for perhaps 45 minutes. I thought about the years when a nap after work was a simple pleasure. I could rest for an hour without a sick stomach, or startling at every sound, gasping when a cupboard slammed in the next room. I used to fall asleep with the sound of Maxx's basketball banging against the garage door outside my bedroom window. In those days the slam of his ball, the shake of the wall each time it hit the wooden door and bounced back onto the slanted, cracked driveway became a soothing lullaby of white noise. He was home where he belonged shooting hoops, doing something he loved. I cradled the rhythmic repitition of sound in my head as I drifted and slept. Maxx...slam, thud...Maxx...slam, thud...Maxx was home. I could rest. I could dream. He was safe, so was I.
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