I have a syndrome!?
The
other day I found myself stirring in my lovely bed,
cat by my side obviously, and the sun was streaming through my
window. How odd, I remember
thinking. It's not light early these days...
Then
I hear the radio trickle through my muddled consciousness from the
next room. That'll be a good indicator of the time! I
smile smugly at my brilliance. I don't even have to reach over (and risk a snooty glare from the cat) to grab my phone from the bedside table and see what time it is!
I strain and hear an old-school Scottish accent – forever reminding me of a budget edition of Terry Wogan –
oh, Ken! Right so that means it's after 9:30...then
I hear a female recorded voice shout 'THREE in TEN!!' and I spring up
in bed. That's the final part of Popmaster! It must be
10:45 or 10:50! Shit! How did I sleep in this late?!
Somnolence
Syndrome. That's my lot, that's what I got. I'm so happy there's a legitimate-sounding name for my
current condition. Just saying 'tiredness' seems lame, or worse,
fake. Saying 'radiotherapy-induced tiredness' sounds a little
serious, and yet at the same time silly...? I've said 'the radio sleeps' a few times, that
seems cool and offhand enough while at the same time oddly legit...
Basically,
I'm mega tired and constantly sleeping, and it's down to my
radiotherapy. Yes, I am aware that my radiotherapy ended 8 weeks ago
(wait, that's 2 months!? Holy sh--) and that I was supposed to expect
the tiredness kicking in as the treatment went on; literally every
consultation with a specialist during the treatment they'd say 'You
will lose hair soon/you will get tired soon/you will get SICK SO VERY
SICK SO SOON BE AFRAID GRACIE' and yet nothing was happening for the
first five weeks. In fact, it wasn't until the car journey home after
my last complete week (with only two little days left the following
week) that I found some hair was coming out in my hands as I ran my
fingers through. I actually thought oh, FINALLY.
Same when I started sleeping more heavily at night – 10 hours
errrry night! – and even when I started getting sad. When The Sads
returned, I worked up the courage to mention it to the radiographers
and they were delighted almost to tell me that it's normal and not
nice but totally expected...the nicer cells get a whack from the
radiation too, and all that.
The
one thing I didn't get, however, was the tiredness. Like, not just
the heavy night-time sleeping, no the actual overwhelming tiredness
day-to-day. It never happened. I couldn't help but think 'Well, my
surgeon said I'd sail through this, so...'
I
was duly warned that sometimes symptoms take a while to catch up with
you, that often patients would find they'd get the tiredness up to 10
weeks down the line. That sounded horrific – I'd hate to have
things catch up with me! No,
thank you. I banished that thought and for the last few weeks (as
y'all may know) I've been planning the future and generally getting
my shit together. Booking events, arranging meetings with the manager
at work, writing more and more...also I am currently looking into
travel insurance so I can fly (the consultant the other day told me I
could fly and I legit freaked out with happiness) out with some pals
on another magical Euro expedition. It's all go.
So
obviously, this is when it hits me.
I
can't remember when exactly it struck, but I do remember having
action-packed days one week, back and forth from London, walking
anywhere and everywhere, seeing theatrical marvels, getting drunk and
disorderly in my precious little town, and meeting up with old
friends, new friends, all of the friends...I'm not scientifically
sure, but I'm fairly suspicious that my extra activities were what
brought it on all the more. Like y'know, girls, how extra exercising
brings on the periods? Just like that!
One
day I napped unexpectedly in the afternoon for three hours solid –
no waking up and rolling over, even, I'm talking hardcore heavy
sleeping. I woke up for dinner and panicked that I'd be up half the
night having napped...nope. I slept the whole night through as well.
Then the next day I had real trouble getting out of bed in the
morning. The cat came in and snuggled with me – as he's been doing
constantly lately, because I maintain he is psychic –
and I fell back to sleep. I got out of bed around midday. Then the
next day, which I recall was a Sunday, I stayed in bed all day.
Almost. I got out once, to make myself some sandwiches despite not
being hungry, and I fell over onto the kitchen floor. I was so weak
and wobbly, I had to crawl back upstairs with my plate. The parents
were out, in case you were wondering – they've been rocks, as per,
since this started. I have food made for me and baths run for me; I
get walked up and down the stairs, tucked in on the sofa, and I'm
never urged to get up and out because they know the feels are real.
It's
overwhelming. I really mean that. It's like a magical spell – like
I've been cursed to sleep forever! I
can't explain it, really...it's like if I laid down on the sofa right
now and shut my eyes, I'd be out in minutes. I am never not tired. My
legs are jelly, my head is heavy and my yawning is constant and
eternal. I yawn for actual minutes, now. Also my dreams are the most
vivid they've ever been, which would be cool if they weren't also the
most realistic they've
ever been...eeek.
A lot of the time I keep
dreaming that I just...get up in the morning. Seriously. I am
constantly dreaming that my sunny alarm tune (Bill Withers, obvs) kicks in, I sit up and
get out of bed, go down the hall and shower, then crack on with my
day. These dreams are so freakishly spot-on for my routines and
movements when I'm not flat on my back trapped in sleepiness, I do
wonder why they're popping into my head. Is it my brain torturing me
even further? Is it normal for somnolence sufferers? I wonder.
The
specialist tells me it should last 2-3 weeks. That's fine, it's
already been just shy of 2, and I do have days now when I can stay
awake and sit up more, so it must be getting better...maybe.
I
made it to an event in Tottenham Court Road last night, so that's
definite progress! (to be fair, I was never going to miss out on that
exciting event for the new non-fiction Mind Your Head at a
brand new Waterstones, oh no!)
Next
week I have a lot more on, and the week after even more...so it's
like I'm expecting to be better by then! Like I know somehow that
I'll be waking up next Wednesday morning and skipping out the front
door. I admire my idiotic optimism, sometimes. Or is it body
intuition?! Let's hope so...
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