01-17-17 The Case of the Lost Slumber

I felt the congestion coming on late in the afternoon. I had rallied the children to get them to the doctor, and as we waited, I came to grips that I had contracted Baby E’s cold. Knowing that nighttime is usually worse, cleverly I decided to outwit my body, for as everyone knows, you can not tell you are ill, if you are asleep. So, upon getting the children to bed, I wandered to my medicine cabinet and retrieved a bottle of Benadryl. Oh what a bottle it was, filled almost to the brim with brilliantly pink, little pills, each promising me an uninterrupted night’s hibernation. Reading the dosage, I opted for an in between treatment and swallowed one and a half pills. Assured that I would soon slumber, I took a warm bath and then made my bed on the couch, the location of banishment in our home when one gets ill.

I settled in and turned off the lights.

Overconfident I very well may have been as I had overlooked the Starbucks drink I had consumed mere hours earlier.

A civil war of sorts took place within my mind and body- one side the sweet, pink pills of lethargy and on the other, the full throttle intensity of a large cup of coffee. Neither side would be dictated to. Neither side would yield!!

Unflinching they remained, both sides resilient, strong, noble in their steadfast desire to gain control over my sleeping hours.

In the end, the Benadryl won my body, while the Starbucks Grande Caramel Mocha won my mind. So I laid there on the couch, feeling each part of my body’s weight as it pressed itself into the cushions, lacking the ability to move and yet having absolutely no power over the running monologue that streamed ceaselessly in my mind.

I laid there for hours, not moving, but constantly thinking. To make matters worse, the cat was very active. I know not what she laid destruction to in the middle of the night other  than it was loud and echoey.

Add to this Big E, in a groggy stupor, had found the doorknob to his bedroom to be inexplicably difficult and as he screamed at the top of his lungs to get out of his room to use the bathroom, I came to. The journey upstairs was a tenuous one, as the walls teetered and sure footing was hard to find. I found him, though, curled up on his bed, shaking and crying that his door had defeated him. I led him to the bathroom and I wandered back downstairs to the couch, my husband none the wiser as he slept in the bed comfortably and soundly.

The night wore on, and somewhere between sleep and wakefulness I passed those many hours, until long last this very morning the bell tolled and I was officially awoken. This day, however, has been a haze- a Benadryl and caffeine induced trance. May this evening be proven less difficult, and may sleep be found to be less coy.

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