How (not) to have the best night's sleep of your life - Anna Rosenblum Palmer
I stand paused in front of a cook book called “Dump.” I see that it was written for the crockpot set, but still wonder at the branding team that unloaded this on the public. I want to reach out to examine it more closely but my good arm is filled with animal shaped slippers and as seen on TV engraving tools. It is early November so I am following the Rite Aid Rule and shopping for the holidays. Really I am waiting for my medication (AGAIN) but as the customer flow wizards know waiting is the same as shopping. Twenty minutes later my muscle relaxer is ready. When I sat in my Doctor’s office on day 5 of my paralyzing pain I resisted the muscle relaxant. I am already on more medication than I want. We sat in a stalemate, my MD and me, finally he asked if I had been having trouble sleeping and I looked at him as if those particular words had never been strung together before. “I see.” He said crisply as he clicked and routed the prescription to my favorite christmas shoppe. You should take one tonight. It will help you sleep. Then just rest. 90% of these pinched nerves resolve themselves in a week. We both decide to ignore the fact that my pain has already been present for a week and worsening and I trudge out of his office. Steve has driven me because adding the inability to turn my head to already poor driving makes me a hazard to the unsuspecting public. We kill an hour of time then head to the pharmacy to pick up my various prescriptions. My body seems to know I am middle aged. Only one of the three is ready, one won’t be filled until the following day. The f-ing Viibryd which is never ready. As Steve looks for things like batteries and deoderant. I lurch towards the 75% off Halloween decor, staring down the plastic ogre. He too has shoulders that are askew and the miserable pinched face of someone in pain. He can still win the staring contest though so I pile my plush treasures into Steve’s cart and text a friend. “Have you ever taken a muscle relaxant?” I ask. “Best night’s sleep of my life.” She responds. Her reassurance and the sight of the plastic ogre combine in the push I need to take the pill. As Steve leaves for hockey at 9pm he offers me the muscle relaxant and I refuse. I don’t want to be alone with the kids drugged out like the prom date in 16 candles. So we decide I will take it when he returns. Optimistically I imagine I will be sleeping comfortably when he gets in and I am right on one count. When he carefully slides our bedroom door open at midnight I wake with a slice of pain that is beyond any in my memory so I swallow it. Some unknown amount of time passes and ...
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