Contributing to my sleeping challenges these days is the return of the night sweats. I've never been a heavy sweater; in fact I rarely used deodorant. Sweating is a bit... unladylike, and I think I was secretly proud of my unsweaty tendencies. So the night sweats were all new to me when they started over a year ago.
I haven't had them in a long time so I think it's the chemo drug and not the cancer. I wake up -- sometimes two or three times a night -- drenched in sweat, dripping head to toe. My scalp sweats profusely. A river runs down my back, another stream splashes between The Girls. My forearms sweat, for crying out loud. I didn't even know they could. If it's really bad, I dry off a bit and put on a clean nightgown, sometimes twice a night. I have to time it just right, or I crawl back into bed with major shuddering chills.
On top of the sweaty fun... sleep remains elusive. After a last-minute potty run, I decide which side I'll sleep on, usually with a heating pad. I get all situated, read myself almost to sleep, close the book, turn out the lights and finally, slowly, drift into slumber... only to have the Bims and Beaux come roaring home between 2 - 4 am, forgetting that they are drunk and stupid. Then I'm not only awake, I'm awake and pissed. Like the Three Little Pigs before them, they are incapable of thinking of anyone else when they're drunk. (It's not generational, 'cause the kids across the street -- kind, generous, thoughtful -- are the same age.)
Three good things:
- I've learned compassion for people who are, by nature, heavy sweaters.
- I've learned appreciation for REM sleep and the ability to nap.
- If there is such a thing as Karma, the Bims and Beaux are in for an exceptionally miserable middle age.
MYSTERY TATTOO. Spotted at my local Target, an almost-bald young Asian woman with a tattoo swirling all down her right arm (she was sleeveless). It was monochromatic (navy) like a prison tattoo but the artwork seemed professional. In between stars, spirals, and maybe the tattoo version of pixie dust, there were safety pins, one stiletto-heeled platform shoe, the obligatory skull and crossbones, a purse, and an eyelash curler. It was the eyelash curler that got me.
4 comments:
Tim got the night sweats like that when he was on chemo too. I thought maybe it was the dex. He had to sleep with a towel on his pillow as his hair would be drenched and he'd get up to change into dry clothes.
Miserable. Weird tattoo. Wonder if she was sober at the time. Cutest
"tat" I ever saw was a guy who had the tiny footprints taken at birth of his 2 kids done on his arm with their names under the feet.
I'm not a big tattoo person but that one warmed my heart.
Sometimes when I'm surrounded - usually if I make the mistake of going to a mall on a Saturday afternoon - by these young people who display their choice of art all over their bodies, I come away feeling sort of naked because I don't have that. But then I recall seeing the results of a tatoo'ed sailboat on the nether region of an 'older woman' and the sails were no longer full... the young have no idea what the art will look like when they are in their 60's, do they?
Indeed, those fresh little rosebuds become tragically wilted, looong-stemmed roses!
Oh, I'm giggling about the eyelash curler! :)
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