I am a terrible sleeper. Without soporifics, it takes me hours to fall asleep. I wake up constantly. I have vivid nightmares. Insomnia is its own special hell. The day after not sleeping for 24 hours, everything is kind of punchy and frenetic. By day three, I bust into tears for no reason. Luckily, this hasn't happened in years.
In Washington, I had been on different types of sleeping aids for years, but I always felt hung over in the morning, never fully awake. In one case, I was sleeping 14 hours a day. The doctor recommended just lowering the dosage of that particular drug. I passed. Not sleeping at all was a better option than playing a drugged Briar Rose.
Before my friends who swear by holism get their panties in a twitch, I had also tried sleep hygiene, melatonin, valerian, warm showers, cold showers, hot toddies, acupuncture, exercise, meditation, and anything other suggestion, whether it seemed remotely feasible or not. It felt like failure on my part that none of these methods worked. I just wanted to sleep.
Then my doctor in Texas introduced me to Ambien. It was, hands down, the best drug I have ever tried. I woke up the next morning and it was as if the world had been drenched in technicolor. I had slept the entire night. I kept thinking to myself, "If this is how other people sleep all the time, no wonder they are always happy." In my earliest memories, I grew up in a house of snorers and I would while away the early morning hours listening to the chorus of snoozers (including, a one point, a basset hound). I had no idea what sleep could be.
And everything seemed to be going well. I was more productive and more pleasant to be around. My dissertation research had just begun and anything seemed possible. I had the side effects that people are warned about - eating in my sleep with no memory of it was the least of my concerns. I had amnesia from the time I took it in the evening until I woke up the next morning. The problem was that I wouldn't immediately go to sleep after taking it. Luckily, my partner, with the patience of a saint, kept an eye on me and didn't let me get too crazy. The high (or low, depending on your perspective) point came when I swam in the pool fully dressed. It's not as crazy as it sounds, as Texas summer nights are still warm and my partner was babysitting me. After that, however, we decided I should not be allowed to leave the house.
I had trouble scheduling overnight trips without a chaperon. There were at least two women-only leather events I missed out on because they involved camping out. I just couldn't be trusted to make decisions on my own after I had taken Ambien. The amnesia and strange behavior really freaked me out at the beginning. I brought it up with my doctor and he said it was normal. I wondered if this was what it was like to go senile. My partner would have conversations with me, or we would watch TV, and I'd not be able to remember anything. After I had been taking it every night for a year, I learned to embrace the zen-like state between medication and sleep. I know I enjoyed the things I was doing in the moment, even if I couldn't remember the specifics the next day.
After two years, I noticed I was starting to have trouble remembering things during my waking hours. People would ask about my childhood and I just couldn't remember things about the school I went to or who my favorite teacher was. I did not connect this with my Ambien, as it had always affected my short term memory, not my long term one. This was particularly problematic, since I was in the final stages of writing my dissertation. I had to constantly refer back to notes to get even a page written. I couldn't remember the names of authors I had cited a thousand times. The point was driven home to me on one of my job interviews when someone asked me what, in my past, had made me want to tell stories. I had no answer. I made something up. I started talking to my doctor, wondering if I was having early onset Alzheimer's. My mother's memory was poor but she was never diagnosed with anything before her death from cancer at 54. Unfortunately, my tendency toward sanguinity underplayed my concerns, making it seem like this was a tad disconcerting but not the descent into madness I was fearing.
Fast forward to Cleveland. Part of what I hate about moving to a new city is getting a new doctor. I went for the introductory visit and in the course of the exam, explained that I was having cognitive difficulties. She said I was just getting older (I am 35!) and should expect not to remember things the way I used to. At a different point in our interaction, she flipped out that I was on Ambien, especially because I took it every night. She explained that there had been "fatal consequences for sleep partners" and that she could not let me continue to take it at the dose I was on. I freaked out. Sleep is so important to me. The idea that she was going to mess with that pissed me off and made me defensive. But she wouldn't give me a perscription. She halved my dose.
I tried it for a week, but I wasn't sleeping, again. She gave me a perscription for anxiety medication to take a bedtime instead. Angry and bitter about not sleeping, I tried it. It took me hours to fall asleep. I woke up constantly. I took a higher dosage to compensate for that and was groggy in the morning. However, I stopped being stupid. I could remember a phone number for more than 3 seconds. I could recall watching movies with my sister growing up. If my doctor had only suggested to me that it was the Ambien that was causing my memory problems, I would have been more enthusiastic about giving it up. She was worried I'd kill my partner, but not that I couldn't remember which preposition to use when writing.
I miss good sleep. I'm not willing to trade my memories for it though. It just frustrates me that it took switching to a new doctor before someone better informed than me thought to take me off of it, even if it was not for the reasons I could articulate. It is terrifying to be told, at my age (or any age, I suppose), that my memory loss was just part of growing older, especially as it was happening so rapidly.
Like any addict, I enjoyed the benefits of and yet felt held hostage by my drug. I feel betrayed that my previous doctor had me on a high dose for years, rather than the weeks recommended by the FDA. I hate my dependence on big pharma for the ability to make it through the night.
'Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die to sleep,
To sleep, perchance to Dream; Aye, there's the rub,
For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come,
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