The three-o’clock-in-the-morning blues

 

My brother and me at his ranch.

Several years ago my brother and I were having a deep conversation—I can’t imagine what about, since we aren’t given to such conversations, especially since politics is the elephant in the room for us. But I distinctly remember that he said sometimes, lying awake at three o’clock, he had the recurring thought, “Oops. Wish I hadn’t done that one.” Those words have stayed in my mind.

Three o’clock seems to be the witching hour, when all kinds of unwelcome thoughts occur. Not exactly night terrors, but along that line. Lately, I’ve found myself fighting what I call the three-o’clock blues, trying to make my mind accept that everything looks worse at three o’clock. An image that truly scares me may lodge in my imagination, like people trapped in a rapidly sinking car or someone in a cable car dangling in the air. Sometimes I am obsessed by something I’m planning, like a meal I’m cooking for company or maybe an evening out with friends. I get not an earworm (oh, I do get those—I may have mentioned that it took me days to clear “We’ve a story to tell to the nations” our of my brain), but a brainworm—an obsessive thought I can’t get rid of that keeps me awake.  Sometimes it’s a memory, either good or bad, but even a trip to the bathroom doesn’t break the cycle. I get back in bed and my brain picks up where it left off. I will admit that sometimes I write brilliant scenes for whatever I’m working on, or I plan out a blog—but those don’t often stay with me after my early morning “second sleep.”

What I am a past master at is manufacturing illness in the night. At three o’clock, I am a raging hypochondriac. I have had heartburn that I thought was a heart attack (In my defense, I’d never had heartburn before.) A cough and upset stomach turns into a severe case of covid; a headache is a sure brain tumor; the call of the bathroom indicates an obstruction; if the bathroom doesn’t call, I am convinced my kidneys are failing again. You can see I have to give myself a stern talking to.

This is particularly relevant today, because I’ve just come from the doctor’s office where I was told, “You sound wonderful!” He couldn’t find a thing wrong, and I had no problems to report. I simply wanted—and got—a flu shot (yes, my arm is sore, even though I thought I relaxed the muscles just before the shot). Sure, I have some chronic conditions, but they are controlled. I couldn’t run a 1K race if I had to, and as I just said to someone, I doubt I could ride a bike anymore.

But I am counting my blessings—for my age and history, I am in good health. And all those three-o’clock problems? They’re mostly in my imagination.

This has been a doctor day. Jordan had an appointment just before mine, because she has developed a peculiar rash (we’re hoping it has nothing to do with her new kitty, Charlie). And while we were at the doctors’ office (she sees a different doctor than I do), Jacob texted a picture of a swollen, puffy hand. Instant telephone diagnosis was a bug bite, but I haven’t heard what his pediatrician said. But “doctoring,” as I call it, does take a chunk out of your day and kind of gets you off schedule. I’m not sure I’ve gotten back on yet today.

Watch me develop all the symptoms of the flu at three o’clock tomorrow morning. It doesn’t matter—they’ll be gone by morning (knock on wood).

My Circadian rhythms are out of whack

My Circadian rhythms—those almost 24-hour patterns that control all animal and plant life—out of whack, and I suspect I know why. After I slept the clock around Friday night, I couldn’t go to sleep last night. I’m sure I dozed but I watched much of the night go by. Having a restless nine-year-old in the bed didn’t help. This morning I said to him that I didn’t sleep well last night, and he said, “Neither did I.” I said, “Of course you did. I watched you all night.” He grinned and said, “Just kidding.” I’m about to offer him my side of the bed, which he seems to edge toward. Actually he prefers the middle. Once I turned over, looked at him and saw that his face was “in my face,” with his head buried in the pillows. If I hadn’t felt his regular breathing, I’d have worried about him suffocating.

In the long dark hours of a sleepless night, which doesn’t happen to me often, I’m capable of the most bizarre thoughts—like, “I’m having another TIA” or “This is an omen—something bad is going to happen.” I thought my foot was swelling again, and I’d have to go to the ER. All kinds of fears can raise their ugly heads at three in the morning. I tried relaxation, deep breathing, every technique I knew. I read a question somewhere, probably on Facebook, that asked, “What is it with people who fall right asleep? Don’t they have thoughts?” I outlined a new book, which may eventually lead to something but it falls wide of the mark now; I solved some of the problems in my friends’ lives—which I’d never have the nerve to tell them. I thought of all those emails I should have sent yesterday—they took me five minutes total when I finally did them this morning. I got leg cramps; I had to pee an inordinate number of times; I twisted and turned from back to side and fought off that encroaching child who once gave me such a good whack on the arm I was sure I’d have a bruise. Finally, at 7:30, I gave up, got up, and started my day.

My mom was quite cavalier about sleepless nights when I was a child. I remember complaining that I couldn’t go to sleep because I itched all over. “That,” she said serenely, “is a sign you’re about to go to sleep.” If I complained that I hadn’t slept at all, she’d say, “You did. It just seems like you didn’t.” I did have a few, brief, weird dreams last night and sometimes saw messages and words that made no sense—origin of my fear that I was having a TIA.

This morning, all was sunshine. I went about my routine, fed Jacob, did some work at my computer, did some kitchen work. Okay, don’t look at all the unfolded laundry by the washing machine.

Now I’m sleepy. Jacob has gone to brunch with his parents, and Sophie is curled up in her chair. Company coming at 5:30. I may not be ready, because I’m going to take a long nap (I hope).

P.S. Nice nap. Crockpot barbecue was good. And two important dinner guests are shown above. The younger one is serving as a seeing-eye dog for my friend; the older one is retired. Sophie loves these boys!