This week, my doctor prescribed some muscle relaxers for me because I seem to be unable to relax even when I sleep. I don’t understand this, but nevertheless, the sad state of my neck and jaw points to a serious teeth clenching problem. And so, my doctor recommended two separate prescriptions, one for in the day, and a stronger, more sedating med. for nighttime. He gave me samples of the daytime pill and told me to try half a dose.
So I took half a pill before bedtime, watched a movie, and didn’t feel any different two hours later. I know what you’re thinking, but, no, I did not take the other half and repeat my Vicadin disaster. I just figured I’d take the whole pill the next night and see if that made any difference. Meanwhile, I went to sleep. I woke up around 3 a.m. weighing approximately one thousand pounds. The reason I woke up gradually became clearer. Aside from kids crawling in bed with you or loud teenagers mistaking your sidewalk for a urinal, what other reason is there for waking up at 3 a.m.? I HAD to go to the bathroom. I felt like Shamu after he drank all the water in his tank.
I’m not sure how long it took me to get out of bed, but once I finally hoisted my anvil butt up and off the mattress, I faced another challenge—getting to the bathroom. I dragged my redwood trunks across the bedroom and into the bathroom where I encountered yet another problem. My fine motor skills seemed to be affected by the muscle relaxer too. Just take a moment and imagine the difficulties this caused. Door knob. Light switch. Toilet lid. Er, um, . . . . Toilet paper. Toilet lid again (BANG!) Door knob again. Faucet. Towel. Back to gross motor skills.
I made it to bed once again and passed out like a tranq-ed elephant. By seven a.m. I’d lost about three hundred pounds, but helplessly plastered to your bed by invisible weights is no way to face exuberant boys in the morning. At least, not if you want any hope of surviving the morning ritual of pounce, thump, and roll. Thankfully, I was able to communicate my incapacitated state to my husband, who bravely defended me from the attacking hordes until I was able to roll my massive self out of bed and hide in the closet.
The heaviness subsided as the morning went on, but I wasn’t prepared for Slow-Motion Mom. This hit at 11:04 a.m. as we exited our van and began the short hike from the parking area to Wonderland Ranch for Kory’s company picnic. My husband took off hauling our gear in the wagon, and the boys happily followed taking side trips to pick up irresistible pine cones and sticks. I was still at the van. I took a few steps. They were half way to the first building. I walked past a tree. It took five minutes. By the time I finally got there, they’d dumped the gear and thoroughly investigated all the air jumpers. All I can say is, Daddy had to move double time to keep up with two boys while Mommy moved half time and kept up with nobody.
I think it’s safe to say that I’m very sensitive to medication. Thankfully, slow-mo is better than barf-up. I’m thinking I need to try Prozac or Zoloft next. I’ve always wanted to fly.
Blog Troubles: Hollywood is Boring
10 hours ago