Torture

Posted under Anxiety, Being RSG by Recovering Straight Girl

I once heard that interrogators would use sleep deprivation as a form of torture for prisoners of war. I used to feel as though I was being tortured like this when I had small babies who were up all night wanting my boob or just crying for the heck of it over and over again–every hour–every single night. My babies grew out of all of that (especially the wanting the boob part, thank god,) but I am still reminiscent of those days of being woken up over and over again from time to time.

Like today.

Part of my overhaul has been getting some things looked at medically that I haven’t been able to do for the past few years. The past few years I hadn’t had health insurance and I’ve had to private pay for my doctor’s visit which is prohibitive from having certain things done because of their cost. Now that HG is able to carry me on her insurance–Kaiser is my new best friend and we spend a lot of time together. One of the things in my overhaul has been trying a few different medicines to help with my occasional anxiety and inability to sleep. I’ve already been through one that didn’t work, and I’m on to Plan B. Plan B medicine will be fine I believe when I get used to it–but in the meantime, Plan B medicine makes me completely nauseous and tired. These two things–being tired and nauseous–are two things that are difficult to work into my daily life.

Today, as I nauseatingly drove home from school, I was comforted by the fact that I could lie down in my lounge clothes and take a small nap before the girls came home. Quiet house. I live on a quiet street. It would be great. I snuggled into my bed with my lounge pants and immediately dropped off to napland.

Then the phone rang. Later I found out it was Bill Clinton but I didn’t answer.

I drifted back to sleep and a few minutes later the neighbor walked outside to his car and Abby and Ginger went ballistic barking. I mustered up enough energy to tell them to shut up and went back to sleep.

Then the phone rang again–it was probably Barack Obama this time but he didn’t leave a message.

Then the UPS guy pulled in to the cul-de-sac and Abby and Ginger again went into attack mode.

The girls came home. I quietly explained to them that I didn’t feel well and to do their homework but then . . .

They listened to the phone message and ran upstairs to tell me that Bill Clinton had called and that we should call him back.

A minute later they came in my room again to tell me that DD#3’s fish is dead. I told her I would fish him out of there later–I was too nauseating for a fish funeral.

And then the dog barked again–I think someone checked their mail or something traumatic like that.

And then I gave up and decided to lie here and blog.

I feel like I’ve been in a torture chamber.

And I’m still tired and nauseous.

I don’t know what the military is doing with those prisoners in Abu Ghraib these days but I can tell you what they should do. Give them some pills that make them tired and nauseous and send them to my house for a nap at 2:00 o’clock in the afternoon.

Maybe they can take care of the dead goldfish in my kitchen?