What the doctor ordered

As someone with near perfect health, I don't have a lot of experience being a patient. The most traumatic healthcare experience I've had is getting my wisdom teeth removed. Pretty routine procedure.

But after kicking off what has been the worst summer—sleep wise—of my life, I finally did what I should have done years and years ago: went to a sleep doctor. It introduced me to a world of ridiculously high co-pays, repetitive questions about my sleep habits, and trips to the hospital to get blood tests done. All stuff that was new in an almost eerie way, although a part of me enjoyed finding out what the inside life of a patient was like.

Unsurprisingly, the doctor ordered a sleep test as well, which is just another way of saying, "We're going to charge you a buttload of money so you can have the worst night of sleep in your life." Still, I was kind of looking forward to it, partly because I was curious what it would be like, and partly because I was willing to do just about anything to get to the bottom of why I can't sleep like a normal person.

I showed up at the clinic just before dark, feeling like a homeless person as I stood there in my pajamas, clutching two pillows (never underestimate the importance of good pillows), waiting for someone to let me in. The lab tech took me to the same room I had my initial consultation in, where I saw this waiting for me:

The lab tech spent the next 45 minutes wiring me up. That's about 40 wires connected to my body, mostly on my head, with two on each leg, some on my shoulders/collarbone, a couple straps across my waist and chest, a clamp thing on my left pointer finger, and two breathing tube things in my nose (which would have been a disaster if my allergies decided to come play).

I was a sight to see—wires hooked up everywhere, no makeup on, my hair a frizzy mass of unruly curls because they made me wash it beforehand and I wasn't allowed to put any product in it.

Yes, I took a picture, and no, you can't see it. Basically, I looked something like this:

Only instead of the skeleton, just imagine that there are little white squares glued all over my face.

If I wasn't already exhausted from the frustrating 4.5 hours of sleep I got the night before, not to mention months of sleep deprivation, I might have laughed hysterically at the thought that this was the best solution medical professionals have come up with for monitoring someone's sleep. (Oh, and I'm pretty sure there was also a video camera in my room. Creepy.)

Just picture it: a group of sleep experts sitting at a conference room table in their lab coats, laughing evilly as they map out a formula for the perfect worst night of sleep.

• Strange environment—check.
• Cheap bed with a thin blanket that barely covers it—check.
• Wire the patient up so that in addition to having foreign objects taped all over the place they'll also be paranoid that they'll get tangled up in their sleep—check.
• Sporadic noises throughout the night—check.
• Turn the thermostat down so patient will never be quite warm enough—check.
• Prohibit bathroom breaks/don't tell patient where the bathroom is—check.

(To be fair, my lab tech was a very nice guy, and he did ask me if the temperature was okay, I just underestimated how little coverage that stupid blanket would provide.)

All things considered, I don't think it was the worst night of sleep of my life, but it would make the top 5 if I were weird enough to track that kind of thing. The wires weren't as uncomfortable and distracting as I thought they would be, and I actually slept okay once I managed to fall asleep. Which took a good three hours, even after two doses of melatonin and all of my other tricks to stimulate sleep.

After 3–4 hours of sleep, I was awoken and finally got to get rid of all those wires. Which left goops of this jelly glue stuff all over my face and caked into my hair. Luckily, it wasn't hard to wash out, but this is another one of those situations where I envied bald men everywhere.

Now all I have to do is wait and see what the results are. That and finish up what's turning out to be my busiest week of the year. And wait for the sleep-loss headache to escalate.

Am I laughing or crying?

When your days are three hours longer

This week I've been putting one of my most useful college skills to good use: forcing my brain to work without luxuries like sleep. My sleep volume has been on a slow, steady decline since March, and it's to the point now that sometimes falling asleep before 2:00 a.m. is just impossible.

It's incredibly frustrating, especially if you succumb to the temptation to keep checking the clock. (You're just torturing yourself, Pal.) I often wish that since I'm forced to stay awake that I at least had a cool reason for it, like I'm fighting a forest fire or doing something really fun and nerdy or coming up with brilliant solutions to the world's problems. But no, it's always just "I'm not tired," even if I've employed all of my tricks to stimulate sleep.

But insomnia has some nice advantages, once you stop trying to fight it. For instance, how many times have you wished you had more hours in the day? Even if it was just for some much-needed relaxation?

Insomnia can make that dream come true.

As a kid, I loved staying up late. The thrill of skirting the rules—even if they were just boring bedtime rules—made any activity more fun at night, whether it was playing cards, watching a movie, or jumping on the trampoline. The risk that your dad (on your mom's orders, of course) would come down the stairs and scare you half to death with his exasperated, sleepy threats was worth it because it added just a little extra flavor to your fun. (Though I do feel guilty now about depriving my parents of sleep—sorry guys! I'm sure I'll get my just reward some day.)

And that childlike excitement hasn't left me entirely—I still love the occasional late weeknight movie and marathon reading session. While all the bozos around me are effortlessly snoozing away, I'm having fun, and there's something wonderfully satisfying about enjoying the extra night hours only you were given.

The fun comes with a cost, of course, but I've always appreciated fun more when it wasn't free.

That sleep thing again

There are good reasons to miss out on sleep, and there are bad reasons.

Bad reason:
You're at a dinner group, and because a couple of people don't show up with their food assignments, the meal is sorely lacking. But you know there's dessert—a beautiful-looking chocolate bunt cake, topped with fresh strawberries, whipped cream, and ice cream. Someone calls it the "Diet Coke Cake," so a red flag goes off in the back of your mind: danger—possible caffeine consumption detected. Take precautionary  measures. But you silence the warning because—chocolate.

Hours later, you're so wired your eyes don't even want to close. You're so wired the thought of an all-nighter sounds like great fun—until you finally crash at 3:00 a.m.

Bad reason:
You're grinding your teeth away in your sleep, so your dentist finally succeeds in scaring you into wearing a mouth guard at night. Things could be worse, but that lump of plastic takes time to get used to.

Good reason:
You stay up late to bask in two hours of pure BYU basketball entertainment, culminating in 6 first-half Chase Fischer 3's and Kyle Collinsworth's 6th triple-double of the season. (It took some guy named Shaq three years to get that many triple-doubles in college.) Sleep is elusive when you're having this much fun riding the tourney train.

7 strange things about this morning

1. I got so bored with trying to sleep that I started getting ready for the day at 5:30, an hour and a half earlier than is usual or sane.

2. And I was in a good mood.

3. I still didn't beat the sun, though. Did you know that the sun starts coming out before 6:00 during the summer?

4. It was 80˚ when I stopped stalling and left for work at 7:15. Last week that would have disgusted me, but today it didn't bother me too much.

5. I was the first person on my floor to arrive at work. I kind of wish it was always this quiet.

6. I still have no desire to sleep.

7. The no-sleep headache hasn't hit me yet, and I'm still feeling remarkable mellow. Today just might be a good Monday.

July grumblings

July is full of quintessential summer things: fireworks, barbecues, swimming pools, sunshine. It paints such a lovely picture regardless of what time of year it is, especially when your head is stuffed with memories of spitting watermelon seeds off the deck and playing softball as the sun sets.

The summerness of July is almost great enough to make me forget the worst part—the oppressive heat. After experiencing Florida's murderous heat/humidity combo, I will be forever grateful that Utah exudes heat in the dry variety.

But that's not enough to waylay the grouchiness that comes every time temperatures are above the 90s for more than a couple of days. I wish I could just not let it get to me, but the heat is like a dementor that feeds off of my energy. It's an enemy I simply cannot beat. Especially when my A/C isn't powerful enough to combat the inferno as well as I'd like, which means I'm averaging about 4.5 hours of sleep a night now. And it's not restful sleep.

Hence the grouchiness.

I guess I've no choice but to grump my way through the next month. Hopefully no one notices the bags under my eyes and my shortened tolerance for, hmm, anything. Except for watching guilty-pleasure TV shows in the dark for hours. And eating Denali Extreme Moose Tracks ice cream. Obviously.

When my bed becomes my enemy

It's been a brain tiring week. So brain tiring, in fact, that three nights in a row I slept so deeply that small sounds, bathroom-break urges, and superfluous thoughts couldn't rouse me. In other words, I fell asleep and didn't wake up again until my alarm went off, three nights in a row. Usually that happens about three times a year.

Some of you are probably thinking, "Oh, how nice!"

The past three mornings my only thought has been, "Eeeermmooooooofhgh."

That, my friends, is the sound a person makes when they really don't want to get up. This morning it was so bad that I hit the snooze button five times and then, after I had showered, I snuggled back in bed to "say my morning prayers."

And hours later, the only thing I want to do is sandwich myself between those silky soft sheets. I don't want to work, read, listen to music--none of that. I just want my bed.

Too much "good" sleep is like a drug for me. It's oh-so-wonderful, but I'm much more oriented and happy when I get my normal 6-7 hours of semi-interrupted sleep.

P.S. Can someone please tell me how high school schedules are distributed at the beginning of 2nd semester? I can't remember, and I'm really tired of the stress it's causing in my dreams. Thanks.

Mad Friday, defined

Mad Friday, noun. An condition that occurs when a person (usually an adult) wakes up extra groggy on Friday morning and goes throughout the day in a spectacularly bad mood and a non-caring attitude about all responsibilities. Mad Fridays are usually caused by an inordinately long week, prolonged bitterness after a long weekend or vacation ends, or intense boredom. Mad Fridays can be dangerous, as they often cause the victim to be uncharacteristically violent or mean. The only known cure to a Mad Friday is a nap.

Examples of Mad Friday

• She suffers from Mad Fridays almost weekly.
• Many poor, unsuspecting individuals have been blasted by her lethal glare that only appears on Mad Fridays.
• Her mom always said, "If you let Mad Friday get to you, eventually your face will freeze like that."

Origin of Mad Friday

The origin of Mad Friday is unclear, but it is generally agreed upon that the term arose in the early 21st century after an American millennial (name unknown) was rudely awakened by an obnoxious beeping noise.

Related to Mad Friday

Synonyms: talk to the hand, cantankerous, uber ornery

Antonyms: Happy Friday, optimistic, awake

Well it's, 3:00 . . . in the morning

About a year ago, I got a cold. And I was excited about it.

When I came to the conclusion earlier today (actually, technically that was yesterday) that I had acquired a cold once again, I was annoyed. Annoyed because this time, it's not funny that I have to blow my nose every 27 seconds. I'm growing weary of going to the bathroom every half hour because I'm drinking triple the amount of fluids I normally drink. I don't enjoy not being able to breathe, even if it means that I get to work at home on the couch in my pajamas.

Mostly, I'm annoyed because I had thought I had sunk back into invincible mode, which meant that I would only get sick every four years. Going through this cycle again wasn't part of my master plan.

It doesn't help that my "drowsy" cold medicine had the opposite of its intended effect. For three hours I laid in bed thinking about documenting my falling-asleep process in screen caps, and now I'm reading the 474-page 2014 EHR certification final rule. That's how wide awake I am right now.

The pillow

At first glance, pillows seem to be merely bits of fluff that complement the bedroom set. Their main function is to "finish off" the decor. Certainly the pillow pales in importance next to the mattress and bedding.

I'm not sure why that stigma has established itself into my mind of the hierarchy of sleeping accessories, because I know very well that, being the picky sleeper that I am, I need a good pillow if I want to have a relaxing, peaceful night of sleep.

This concept brutally reinforced itself into my brain several times over the past couple of weeks. I was first reminded of this when I spent a weekend at home a few weeks ago. The pillow currently occupying my room was paper thin and rock hard, and seemed to take up negative space, causing my head to sink into a black hole, my neck hanging off the edge of the chasm, as I tried to get comfortable.

I didn't want to repeat this experience for the 4th of July weekend, so I came prepared with my own perfectly shaped pillow. I slept much better all three nights I was home (though the double mattress pad may have had something to do with that).

However, my brilliant plan sort of backfired because, despite my meticulous efforts not to leave anything behind, I forgot to grab my pillow before I headed out the door, loaded down with more stuff than I probably needed for one long weekend. I realized I had abandoned my pillow during my 60-mile-long firework show commute, but neglected to turn around because I had other pillows sitting on my bed at home.

It took me about 2 seconds after I laid down that night to realize that sleeping on my cuddle pillow wasn't going to work. The pillow was soft and smushy and perfect for cuddling with, but proved to be far too fat for my head to endure 6-7 hours on. So I spent most of the night tossing and turning and alternating between fatso pillow and no pillow at all. When I finally got out of bed the next morning I had a headache in 3 different parts of my head. I think that's the closest I've ever come to experiencing a morning hangover.

Waiting to be reunited with my beloved pillow was no longer an option, so that day I bought a new pillow at Walmart. I bought the smallest one I could find and took it home. To my dismay, the new pillow was at least twice the size of fatso pillow.

So that night I set humungo fatso pillow aside and slept on my body pillow instead, which is a tad thinner than fatso pillow. This worked better than sleeping on fatso pillow, but I didn't experience the warm-and-fuzzy sleep that I've grown accustomed to--I felt like I was an unwelcome guest sleeping on a stranger's bed. Not the most pleasant kind of sleep I tell you, and it resulted in strange dreams.

Now that I think of it, transitioning from pillow to pillow has always been a traumatic experience. When I was a kid--back when I slept with all 20+ of my stuffed animals, each with its own designated spot--I slept on my giant Free Willy. I might as well have slept sitting up; if I tried to do that now I would break my neck.

We used to have this rainbow pillow that me, Tiffany, and Kimberly always fought over. It was an ugly, thin little thing, but because it was multi-colored, we all wanted it. I for one was not above sneaking into someone's room, stealing the pillow, and placing it back on my bed where it belonged. I don't know what happened to that pillow, but I suspect Mom had something to do with its disappearance.

My next favorite pillow was ancient, but I loved it--the cotton inside the pillow no longer stuck together, which resulted in thousands of pieces of material that lumped wherever you prodded it. I usually shoved most of the stuffing to either side of the pillow and rested my head in between, giving me the illusion that I was sleeping on a big fluffy pillow without causing any physical damages. I was very sad when Mom threw that one away, but even I had started to get a little exasperated by its constant expelling of entrails.

Anyway, back in the present world of yesterday, I took matters into my own hands. When I got home from work, the first thing I did was cut open fatso pillow and pull out a layer or two of the stuffing.

And last night I got the first good night's sleep I've had all week, although my neck was still a bit kinked when I woke up this morning. But I think I'll survive until I get my old lopsided-but-shaped-to-my-head-perfectly pillow back.

So you see, pillows are not superfluous details; a good pillow that coincides with the delicate preferences of the individual sleeper can make or break a person's night of sleep.

Excitement = weird sleeping pattern

As a graduation gift to myself, I bought an Adobe package that had InDesign, Photoshop, Illustrator, and a bunch of other programs for my laptop. I finally got the package about a week ago, and that was about when I stopped sleeping at night.

I have been wanting to work on some design projects at home for so long--and for once I don't have to get graded on it or have a supervisor change it all on me at the last minute. I have dozens of projects in mind that I want to do, and when I am lying in bed at night, I can't stop thinking about how I will arrange the pictures on the page, what fonts I will use, which color scheme I will use--it's no wonder I haven't been sleeping much lately.

The frustrating thing is, though, is that I have all these great ideas in my head, but I don't know how to put all of them onto the computer. And I'm awake all night coming up with new ideas. Sometimes I think I should have been a graphics design major. It was something I considered, but I didn't have any experience with it at all until my senior year of college, and by then it was really too late to change anything. I don't regret being an English major, but if I could do it all over again, I would have taken a lot more design classes, at least adding the CHum minor. Ah well.

But I spent some time playing with Illustrator today, and put in some new changes for our concert program, so hopefully my mind will let me sleep tonight. If not I'm just going to give in to my creative appetite and get out of bed and turn my laptop on and see where my late-night brain will take me.

Actually, that's not a bad idea . . . Why is it that my best ideas come to me in the middle of the night?