This week I took myself off to my doctor because I’ve been having difficulties keeping Tracey happy.
No, it’s not what you’re thinking.
“Goodnight,” Tracey will say to me at some point during any given day because I’ll be shuffling my way around to my side of the bed, ready for a nap.
Tracey’s been good about it because she recognises I’m not bunging it on for some time out from folding – I’m totally shagged.
I don’t mean a quick twenty minute power nap, either. Depending on how close to school pick up my brain shuts down, I can be out for one to two hours.
You might be wondering if this affects my sleeping at night?
In fact, because I use a CPAC machine to battle my sleep apnea and it records all sorts of wonderful information, I can tell you on any given day I’ve been getting a total of nine to eleven hours.
And I’m friggin’ exhausted! Constantly. All day. I’ve been struggling in every aspect of my daily life. Finding the motivation to care about anything besides sleep has been epically challenging. Writing up our regular shenanigans – a thing which I love to do – has been hard yakka.
And poor Tracey has begun to pick up the slack for me – which isn’t fair, and doesn’t make her smile as much as she does when, say, I’m washing the dishes.
Which is why, after a year of thinking, firstly, it was the stress of what happened to Tracey, and then the relief of a sleep apnea diagnosis, I went in to ask for more tests. Something else was happening here. Something wasn’t right.
My doctor agreed it was odd and suggested a series of blood tests.
“How about your medication?” he asked me as he checked out my meds. I’m on Nexium for reflux and, as I’ve previously mentioned on this blog, an anti-depressent. “Have you been taking them regularly?” He paused to give me a look. “You haven’t been missing days, have you?”
“No,” I assured him. I am a stickler for taking them. I enjoy taking them. My pre-anti-depresent state is still recent enough I dread ever going back there. And to be honest, I can’t see the sense in finding a tablet which gives you your life back to then not swallow the damn thing as instructed. “I’ve been taking them every morning, first thing.”
“Good,” he said, facing his screen again and tapping at a couple of keys before pausing and turning back. “Morning?”
So anyway, I’m still going to get the blood tests done just to be sure, but…
…apparently if I stop taking what amounts to a sedative every day for breakfast I might notice a difference.
Raising a family on little more than laughs