Lately I have been misplacing things and forgetting way too much. Yes, part of it is age, thank you very much, but I also want to blame some of this on how much I have on my mind. I seem to be in a constant state of minor confusion.
This weekend, I picked up some prescriptions for me, for Mother and for Dennis. As usual I had trouble getting Dennis' filled, and this time mom's were a problem too. Seems the Air Force couldn't find my dad, and they didn't want to cover the scripts. But eventually all of the drugs were ready for pick up. Three for me, three for Dennis and two for mom. I delivered my mother's to her and brought the rest home.
I remember separating them, and putting Dennis' on one chair, and my own on another. I put mine in my drawer and brought Dennis' into his bathroom. The next day, however, one of Dennis was missing. Shit. It was the class 3 narcotic that he uses for a sleeping pill.
I have searched in every drawer, tossed the furniture and the bed, and looked through my purse at least a dozen times. They are no where to be found. I finally had to dial the phone and plead stupidity. I imagine they will get refilled sooner or later, but I can rest assured that the insurance company, the pharmacist and the doctor will be on the lookout for future drug issues.
And I was really looking forward to a full night of sleep!
Until later,
Ann and Dennis
Showing posts with label sleeping pill. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sleeping pill. Show all posts
Monday, August 24, 2009
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Sleep, Interrupted
It was a long day, today. Dennis wanted to get out of bed at 6 am and no matter how much I begged, there was not going to be any relenting. He had been in bed for 12 hours and he had a sore back. By the time I had gotten him up, dressed, changed and fed, I was wide awake, too. So I picked up the house and shot off a few emails regarding the sale of Mother's house.Then it was off for a hair cut for me, stitches replaced for Dennis, a stop at BlockBusters for a few Blueray disks (fancy ass DVDs) and a unplanned pizza pickup at the best pizza shop in Minneapolis.
By the time we returned home, 4 pm, Dennis was exhausted again. We managed to get in one tube feeding, one slice of pizza each and one movie, before Dennis went back to bed. Well, he had been up for 14 hours, and that is a long day for him.
I gave him two sleeping pills (it's within the prescribed amount) hoping he would sleep a little later for a Saturday morning sleep in late. These pills not only help him sleep longer, but also quieter. The muscle relaxers in the pills also keep him from slugging me in the middle of the night. They often help with his vivid dreams and wild screams. Not always, but most of the time.
All was well when I went to bed a few hours later. He was sound asleep and quiet. I drifted off into my own dream land and hoped for the best.
3 am. The usual time for sleep, interrupted, but not the usual suspect. One of those damn smoke detectors was beeping. I rolled over, trying to ignore it. Nope, that wasn't going to work. I finally got up, pulled a chair under the contraption right outside our bedroom door, and reached. Damn high ceilings, I couldn't reach. I went to the pantry, where Dennis had put a pole that I cursed every time I opened the pantry, and tried to reach it once again. Success! I had disarmed the detector!
By this time, Stinker, (Shiva, the kitty) was following me around and wanted up, on the bed. Actually, she wanted to lay on my belly and allow me to rub her face for a while. This was cool with me. I needed to unwind after my trials with the alarm. And just as I had started to forget reality, the beeping started again.
Who in the world, invented such a contraption? An alarm is suppose to give warning when it is necessary. Crying wolf is contradictory to what an alarm is meant to do.
I tried, once again to ignore it. I counted the seconds between the beeps. Knowing when the next beep is coming is easier for me than waiting for the next beep. Exactly 15 seconds between beeps. 4 beeps a minute. 240 beeps an hour. I wanted to sleep for at least 3 more hours, which meant I needed to tolerate over 700 more beeps. Shit. I couldn't do it.
I got up, again. I pulled out the fold up stool. Wisely, I put on a robe. Not only do we have high ceilings, but also too many windows for a late night naked scenario on a stool. I found the battery cover and opened it up. Damn. A 9 volt battery.
Who, in this world, keeps a stock of 9 volt batteries around? Not us, it appears.
It's times like these that I miss my old Dennis the most. Oh, I have lived alone as many years as I have lived with someone else. I know how to take care of myself. But, when you live with someone, you don't always want to take care of everything. Okay, let the self-pity go.
The upshot is, by now it is after 4 am, and here I sit. Counting the damn seconds between beeps. And, as it should be, Dennis has started making noises and talking in his sleep. The pills have worn off and my REM sleep is gone until at least tomorrow night. At least I got an entry written for today.
Until later,
Ann and Dennis
By the time we returned home, 4 pm, Dennis was exhausted again. We managed to get in one tube feeding, one slice of pizza each and one movie, before Dennis went back to bed. Well, he had been up for 14 hours, and that is a long day for him.
I gave him two sleeping pills (it's within the prescribed amount) hoping he would sleep a little later for a Saturday morning sleep in late. These pills not only help him sleep longer, but also quieter. The muscle relaxers in the pills also keep him from slugging me in the middle of the night. They often help with his vivid dreams and wild screams. Not always, but most of the time.
All was well when I went to bed a few hours later. He was sound asleep and quiet. I drifted off into my own dream land and hoped for the best.
3 am. The usual time for sleep, interrupted, but not the usual suspect. One of those damn smoke detectors was beeping. I rolled over, trying to ignore it. Nope, that wasn't going to work. I finally got up, pulled a chair under the contraption right outside our bedroom door, and reached. Damn high ceilings, I couldn't reach. I went to the pantry, where Dennis had put a pole that I cursed every time I opened the pantry, and tried to reach it once again. Success! I had disarmed the detector!
By this time, Stinker, (Shiva, the kitty) was following me around and wanted up, on the bed. Actually, she wanted to lay on my belly and allow me to rub her face for a while. This was cool with me. I needed to unwind after my trials with the alarm. And just as I had started to forget reality, the beeping started again.
Who in the world, invented such a contraption? An alarm is suppose to give warning when it is necessary. Crying wolf is contradictory to what an alarm is meant to do.
I tried, once again to ignore it. I counted the seconds between the beeps. Knowing when the next beep is coming is easier for me than waiting for the next beep. Exactly 15 seconds between beeps. 4 beeps a minute. 240 beeps an hour. I wanted to sleep for at least 3 more hours, which meant I needed to tolerate over 700 more beeps. Shit. I couldn't do it.
I got up, again. I pulled out the fold up stool. Wisely, I put on a robe. Not only do we have high ceilings, but also too many windows for a late night naked scenario on a stool. I found the battery cover and opened it up. Damn. A 9 volt battery.
Who, in this world, keeps a stock of 9 volt batteries around? Not us, it appears.
It's times like these that I miss my old Dennis the most. Oh, I have lived alone as many years as I have lived with someone else. I know how to take care of myself. But, when you live with someone, you don't always want to take care of everything. Okay, let the self-pity go.
The upshot is, by now it is after 4 am, and here I sit. Counting the damn seconds between beeps. And, as it should be, Dennis has started making noises and talking in his sleep. The pills have worn off and my REM sleep is gone until at least tomorrow night. At least I got an entry written for today.
Until later,
Ann and Dennis
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Prairie Dogs
I can't go back to sleep.
It's four am, and Dennis is chasing prairie dogs in his sleep. I don't know why those pesky prairie dogs keep nipping at his ankles, but they do. At least 3 nights a week he is fighting them off, swearing at them and they just keep biting away. It's quite a noisy dream and his legs and arms flail around in stiff and abrupt motions. It's not easy to stay asleep, or fall back to sleep when he is dreaming out loud.
One of his doctor's suggested that he take an extra sleeping pill midway through the night. In theory, it should work. In actuality, this would mean waking him up, propping him up, giving him the pill, unpropping him and readjusting him to a sleeping position. This would be a 30 minute process, and I would be so wide awake by the end, I still wouldn't be able to get back to sleep.
I tried putting my arm around him, but he is wearing his dinner from the night before, and his chest is sticky. I talked to him and let him know that I chased every last one of those critters away, but he must not have believed me, because he just kept flailing and yelping.
Finally, I got out of bed, cleaned up the kitchen and sat down to write this blog. Naturally, now that it almost time for the alarm to go off, he has quieted down. Oh, well, yesterday his PCA wasn't able to come and we slept in until almost 11:00. I can't complain about a lack of sleep.
I would, however, like to figure out why he dreams of prairie dogs. Is it just me, or is this an odd animal to have in a dream?
Until later,
Ann and Dennis
It's four am, and Dennis is chasing prairie dogs in his sleep. I don't know why those pesky prairie dogs keep nipping at his ankles, but they do. At least 3 nights a week he is fighting them off, swearing at them and they just keep biting away. It's quite a noisy dream and his legs and arms flail around in stiff and abrupt motions. It's not easy to stay asleep, or fall back to sleep when he is dreaming out loud.
One of his doctor's suggested that he take an extra sleeping pill midway through the night. In theory, it should work. In actuality, this would mean waking him up, propping him up, giving him the pill, unpropping him and readjusting him to a sleeping position. This would be a 30 minute process, and I would be so wide awake by the end, I still wouldn't be able to get back to sleep.
I tried putting my arm around him, but he is wearing his dinner from the night before, and his chest is sticky. I talked to him and let him know that I chased every last one of those critters away, but he must not have believed me, because he just kept flailing and yelping.
Finally, I got out of bed, cleaned up the kitchen and sat down to write this blog. Naturally, now that it almost time for the alarm to go off, he has quieted down. Oh, well, yesterday his PCA wasn't able to come and we slept in until almost 11:00. I can't complain about a lack of sleep.
I would, however, like to figure out why he dreams of prairie dogs. Is it just me, or is this an odd animal to have in a dream?
Until later,
Ann and Dennis
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Sleeping
There are simply a few things that a person should not talk about when they wake up in the middle of the night and find their partner awake, too.
One is money and the other is death.
Dennis takes a light narcotic sleeping aide, that keeps bad dreams and movements at bay through the night. So when he brings up money worries or decides to tell me how long he believes he has to live, he falls asleep easily after he is finished. Me, I am kept awake for the remainder of the night.
Last night, however, after he announced at 1:30 am that he thinks he has about 2 to 3 years to live, I got up and took one of his pills.
I know, I really do know, that prescribed meds should never be shared. But I also know that going to work without my eight hours is an equally bad idea. So I took one pill and slept until the alarm went off at 5:30.
I suppose I should go back and finish the conversation with Dennis at a time other that the middle of the night. I should also talk to my doctor about a proper sleeping pill for me, for times just like this.
It might also help if I brought a large hammer to bed, and smacked Dennis when he brings up inappropriate night time conversation. But that could lead to jail time, and that has to be worse than taking a prescribed drug, without a prescription.
One is money and the other is death.
Dennis takes a light narcotic sleeping aide, that keeps bad dreams and movements at bay through the night. So when he brings up money worries or decides to tell me how long he believes he has to live, he falls asleep easily after he is finished. Me, I am kept awake for the remainder of the night.
Last night, however, after he announced at 1:30 am that he thinks he has about 2 to 3 years to live, I got up and took one of his pills.
I know, I really do know, that prescribed meds should never be shared. But I also know that going to work without my eight hours is an equally bad idea. So I took one pill and slept until the alarm went off at 5:30.
I suppose I should go back and finish the conversation with Dennis at a time other that the middle of the night. I should also talk to my doctor about a proper sleeping pill for me, for times just like this.
It might also help if I brought a large hammer to bed, and smacked Dennis when he brings up inappropriate night time conversation. But that could lead to jail time, and that has to be worse than taking a prescribed drug, without a prescription.
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