There’s daytime, and there’s nighttime, and
in my recovery process there is a huge difference between them. The difference,
to use a lame phrase, is “like night and day.”
During the daytime, I try to stay on top of
the recovery process. I do my reading practice and exercises; I was for lengthy
periods, slowly. I lie down after
meals, and for long periods in the morning. I get to bed before 10 every night.
Good doobee. But as you’ve been reading, to a boring degree, likely, the nights
are a different world for me in recovery. This weekend was a prime example.
On Saturday morning, I received a phone call
from a person in my work situation. He was a friend, a supporter concerned for
my well being and progress in recovery. He also bore an official message from the
workplace that I found very upsetting, through no fault of his own.
For the remainder of the day, I grumbled
about this, talked about it with Beatrix, and even shared it with my son, who
knows a lot about this kind of thing. I did all I could to process it and
devised a conscious strategy for dealing with the issues incipient in it. By
evening, while still somewhat upset, I believed I had a handle on it.
Bedtime: first of all, I was clearly upset
and distracted enough that I forgot to take my bedtime medication. Mistake
number one. Then, beginning at 21:45, I lay waiting for sleep. Which didn’t
come…and didn’t come. Then, I began having images of people from the past in
totally incongruous situations, in places together where they never were
together back then. I quickly realized that I had been sleeping at a light
enough level that I felt awake, but
was dreaming.
Then followed a long wakeful process of
trying to make sense of the dreams – not a wise thing to try immediately
following the experience. Of course, the mental activity soon shifted to the
‘situation’ raised for me by the innocent phone call earlier that day. The
‘issue’ rapidly became “The Issue,” and then “THE ISSUE.” For a good two hours
I wrestled and writhed with this. A tussle with an angel, a la Jacob. It felt
more like the Devil at the time.
Finally, I got up at about 2:00 AM. I decided
to write an ‘appropriate email response to the appropriate individual about
‘the issue.’ This was positive action for me. It focused my mind, kept me
working on what I needed to say as
opposed to what I wanted to say. I
finally left it shortly after three, knowing that I count on Beatrix for wise
feedback on the document in the morning. I was asleep by 3:30 or so. And awake
at seven. The impact of the last 12 to 14 hours began then. Bad headache, first
in a long time, and a bag signal if you are dealing with stroke recovery. I
took appropriate medication, which had always worked relatively quickly in
hospital. By noon, no change. I thought, with help, I might sleep. No way; toss
turn; repeat. I came to about 14:00 hrs, still aching, and ate something. And
then went back to bed.
About four Beatrix began questioning me about
whether we could go out for our normal Sunday evening Chinese meal. Actually,
she gently announced it. That was actually helpful. By the time we went out,
the headache was lightening, and the evening was OK, focused enough to watch
Daniel Day-Lewis and Sally field in Lincoln.
Last night, with soft music, I slept well,
and this morning, I have what I would call a ‘thick head,’ kind of sore, but
not aching. One noticeable marker, however, was my blood pressure. I monitor it
daily, as requested. All week it has been in the 130’s over 70’s – upper normal
on the scale, pretty normal for me. All day Sunday it registered in the 150’s
over 70’s, the “Hypertensive I” level. Not good for me. I’m glad I will see my
MD on Wednesday. It has been a long weekend. I need a weekend to recover. Small
joke. Next time…
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