Superbowl and thoughts on sleep

 

No, the two aren’t really connected, though I do find the Superbowl broadcast overwhelmingly noisy which tends to make me want to retreat to my bed. I am not a football fan, and it is immaterial to me which team wins—except this year I want the Chiefs to win simply because I’ve heard too much hype about Taylor and Travis and I want them to enjoy their moment. I think what they have right now is true love, the kind that lifts you off your feet and takes you to a new stratosphere. Some people never know that in their whole lives, so I‘m delighted for Travis and Taylor, Whether it lasts or not, let them have it now.

But the fact that much of the Superbowl makes me want to retreat to my bed reminds me that I’ve been thinking about sleep patterns and age lately. You know those obnoxious people who spring out of bed at six in the morning, alert, bright, and ready to take on the day? I used to be one of them. I always said I did my best work, writing, whatever in the morning. Not anymore.

And you know how teenagers can sleep until noon? I never could do that. My internal clock woke me at seven, and If I stayed in bed, I got a headache, tossed and turned, and found it easier to get up rather than pretend I was sleeping late. Not anymore.

My internal clock has shifted. It happened gradually, but these days I find myself up and working at my computer until midnight. And I can happily sleep until nine in the morning—once in a while, nine-thirty, though I haven’t made it to noon yet. Sophie gets me up at seven or seven-thirty for her breakfast, but I can go back to bed and go sound asleep until she wakes me again for her second breakfast (the two-step breakfast is another subject and has to do with her diabetes).

Then there are naps. I have always been a napper, grew up in a family where everyone napped, made my children nap until they were way beyond the point where most kids take naps. I would tell them to take a “body rest” if they didn’t sleep. But like most responsible adults, I had a nine-to-five job and couldn’t nap during the week. On the weekends, it was an indulgence. But now that I’m retired, it has become a necessity. I get unbearably sleepy about after lunch, and I’m good for a nap of anywhere from one to two hours. Some days I sleep deeply, with wild dreams (I’m one of those who often remember dreams, at least for a while); other timrd I think I’m not sleeping but realize when I get up that I’ve been off somewhere else. More frequently these days, waking up to reality is difficult—I’m grumpy. Yesterday I’d had a good and productive morning but woke from my nap with the feeling that I was sick somehow. I wasn’t. It just took me a while to get back to myself. That’s a new thing too. Please note: don’t call me between about one-thirty and four-thirty. Give me a bit of flexibility

And then there are what a friend calls pajama days—those days when all you want to do is go back to bed. They don’t happen often, but when they do, I give in to them. I may nap off and on all day. It seems to be what my body needs. I’m not sick, not sad, not depressed—just sleepy. I never think I can plead I’m tired or overworked because mine is not a demanding daily schedule.

The National Institute on Aging says the elderly (isn’t it strange to apply that term to yourself?) need the same amount of sleep—seven to nine hours—and lists causes for lack of sleep, from pain to medications, and results—irritability, memory loss, more falls. Other sites say the elderly spend more time in bed but experience a deterioration in quantity and quality of sleep—I can testify to that because I wake frequently during the night. The result, the National Library of Medicine says, is more daytime napping, on purpose and unintentionally. But the Institute on Aging refers to “senior fatigue,” which they say is a real thing—and begins in your thirties. Makes me think of my mom. I clearly remember one day when we were in the garage and she was going to drive me to school. ‘I wake up wondering how soon I can go back to bed,” she said, and she must have been in her fifties. Strange how moments like that stay forever clear in one’s memory.

My own conclusion is that the changes I’m experiencing are a normal part of aging, and I am blessed to only occasionally suffer from insomnia. Most of the time I sleep deeply and satisfyingly—and sometimes with wonderful dreams that I am reluctant to leave.

Sweet dreams—and how well do you sleep?