Sleep, or lack thereof

I don’t sleep well – never have, actually. I also have set alarm clocks exactly twice in my life, one for the subject test of the GRE, the other after being jetlagged in England. Neither of them went off. So averse to being startled, I continued to wake myself, checking the time, only to doze restlessly until enough time had passed to check the digital numbers glowing by my bed again.

One of the reasons I like academic positions is that they can sometimes be structured to have very flexible hours. I don’t have to arrive at particular times most days, so I’m able to relax and allow myself to sleep when I’m ready rather than trying to force it to obtain adequate amounts of rest.

This morning, I had an early meeting. I woke every half hour, finally throwing my fluffy comforter aside and shuffling to my bathroom at 5:02. I brushed my teeth, inserted my contacts and stood in the closet for a moment, deciding what to wear, swaying a little with the desire to return to the warmth and comfort of bed, close my eyes and drift back into sleep.

I got dressed, pulled my hair back, and decided to put on make-up when I got to work. I put some treats in a pile for Chienne, though she was still tucked under her blanket at the foot of my bed. She blinked at me, trying to pull herself from doggie dreams, as I kissed the top of her head and opened the door to the garage.

My commute was made largely in a drowsy haze. There was a surprisingly high level of traffic at what I felt was an uncommon pre-dawn hour to head to work. I wondered briefly if they were always up or if, like me, they had something unusual happening today. If they were rubbing their eyes and blinking rapidly to try to focus on driving, hoping others were more awake and aware so that we wouldn’t run into each other in our pricey cars.

I made it up to my spot in the parking structure in less than half the time it normally takes. Few people were parked, and I was able to circumvent the full loop that elevates me through the building. Zipping around corners that normally caused me to pause and look for other drivers made me smile, and Chandler had finally taken my hint and was finding some peppy music to play on shuffle. The slow songs were too tempting – seducing me to drift into a deeper relaxation that I could see easing me into sleep.

I don’t remember the elevator ride to the ground, nor do I recall much of the walk. It was dark – peaceful and comfortably cold. There was nobody to talk to – no instances of being accidentally drawn into conversation by a simple “good morning” designed more from being polite than friendly. So I zoned out, making my way toward the office by route.

I arrived, plugged in headphones and listened to more music while I printed out some material for my meeting. Deciding caffeine would help, but feeling too queasy for coffee, I decided a diet Pepsi was in order. Pawing through my bag, I realized I’d forgotten my purse, something that would normally bug me, but was now quickly forgotten as my mind drifted in some unknown direction yet again.

I ended up leaving early. Coming home to a glass of water and some pretzels before crawling back into bed. Chienne, thrilled to see me earlier than she expected, settled in to play. I patted her head with one hand, the other already scrunching a pillow beneath my right ear and nuzzling in. I remember her bringing me a squeaky cow toy she got for Christmas and holding on to one of the legs she tugged. And then nothing, waking an hour later to feel more functional, though residual lack of sleep still permeates my thoughts.

I don’t deal well at all with being tired. If you screw with my sleep schedule, I become completely unpredictable. Some days, I’m soft without my normal sleep – cuddly and kind, the ability to be irritable or entertaining out of reach due to the sheer energy required. Others I’m vicious – furious over tiny problems, highly impatient, and peering at you from a glare, waiting for you to do something stupid so I can say something mean. I can also be sad – feeling pathetic and emotional because I wasn’t able to restore my psyche in sleep and dreams.

Since I struggle so mightily with it, sleep has always fascinated me. The first time I took Tylenol PM, I was euphoric. The rise of drowsiness, the irresistible urge to close my eyes and then actually drifting off without chasing increasingly alarming swirls of thoughts in my head – it was amazing. I remember lying in bed, giggling with delight at the unfamiliar feelings even as I surrendered consciousness to the oblong blue capsules.

I attended a seminar in grad school. Someone from Wisconsin was talking about her sleep research, and I believe, upon seeing her picture, that it was Dr. Ruth Benca. Tales of fruit flies and mice – sleep deprivation and its dire consequences – were followed by stories of migratory birds. How they could retain complete functionality – the ability to evade predators, find their way to warmer climates, forage for food - all without sleep to restore their tiny brains.

I enjoyed her talk then – thought it was highly interesting, well presented and contained fascinating material. I even wrote an extra-credit paper on it for the Neuroscience class I was taking. So I was reading today, remembering that they’d like to understand the little sparrows to gain insight into troubled sleepers – often those people who suffered from depression or bipolar disorders. I also remember there being advantages to exploit for people in high-stress situations (soldiers in battle, firefighters in large blazes, grad students who need 2 more papers before they can schedule their defenses*).

* That last one was meant to be funny, not offensive. I think men and women in the military as well as people who participate in public service via any profession deserve the highest of regard, and don’t at all consider myself (or my intense desire for sleep) to be in their echelon. But I have no stories where my life depends on retaining higher than normal ability in the face of extreme exhaustion. My only relatable experience is grad school, where I tried desperately to complete a task when I wanted more than anything to rest. I know it’s not the same thing, but it’s all I have right now.

I vividly remember the mice who after sleep deprivation would walk right up to a snake. The haze of confusion surrounds you – makes you largely unaware of actions that would normally be of great concern, allows distractions to gain your full attention – a shiny penny lying on the ground could be a source of great delight and beauty, stopping my walk to my car to smile at how the sun glints off the pretty copper. I drifted easily into a memory of rolling my eyes in exasperation as my parents picked up 52 pennies (25 for her, 27 for him) in a fast food parking lot on the way back from vacation. “It’s money!” Dad exclaimed happily, grinning over the front seat at where I had slumped in the back with my book. I like my parents… Then looking around and wondering what the hell you’re doing, standing on the curb, happily grinning down at the gutter.

But birds apparently sacrifice sleep to travel at night, retaining high levels of functionality despite the sleep deprivation. Apparently the behavior is replicated in the manic stages of bipolar people – the latency to REM, duration of sleep, ability to function at high levels of productivity and cognition. So understanding our tiny, feathered friends could help us out significantly. I can’t find a follow-up paper that describes the mechanisms of this behavior. What allows the creatures to fly rather than sleep?

I think there was supposed to be another point in here, but I can’t remember it. The craving for sleep grows stronger – stealing thoughts and pulling heavy eyelids closed. So I’ll wish myself sweet dreams, and hope I can manage to remove my contacts and brush my teeth before cuddling into pillows, blankets and freshly-laundered sheets. Until someone tells me how to get around it, I’ll enjoy the pleasures of letting consciousness slip away for a few hours.

Note: Rattenborg's paper is very well written, and, I think, fascinating. It's also in an open-access journal (insert applause for open access journals), and therefore available for easy online reading. Perhaps the point I wanted to make but lost is in there somewhere.