To sleep, perchance to dream

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AGMA dreaming of sleeping through the night

“Sleep that knits up the ravell’d sleave of care,                                                                         The death of each day’s life, sore labour’s bath,                                                                      Balm of hurt minds, great nature’s second course,                                                                 Chief nourisher in life’s feast.”

-William Shakespeare, Macbeth

So it sounds like Bill knew how to get a good night’s sleep.

No surprise… No Monday Night Football or TV series to binge watch on Netflix. No glowing blue screens to reduce the production of his melatonin. No “mine is bigger than yours” dare and double dare between two narcissistic, megalomaniac bullies that threatens to wipe out humanity.

How about you? How you sleepin’ at night?

Once upon a time, AGMA slept like tRump at the G20. Like a log.

From my childhood through my 20’s, I was a 8 hour a night sleeper. Sometimes 9.

But of course, that was PC.

Pre-children…

Sleep patterns start going downhill when you’re pregnant.

The first thing to go was the tummy sleeping. As a child and young adult, AGMA was a tummy sleeper. However, this is difficult if you have a little human in your abdomen. They tend to take issue with being squished. Plus, you reach the point where tummy sleeping is like balancing your body on a volleyball.

I became a fitful side sleeper.

Then there were the wee hours (pun intended) trips to the bathroom. That little human needs more room as he grows. And the space formerly occupied by your bladder seems the perfect place for him to practice his downward dog.

Bladder volume decreases significantly. Bathroom visits increase exponentially.

Finally, there is the last month of pregnancy where no sleeping position is comfortable no matter how many pillows you try to stuff around the “hanging out” places

Then the baby comes and all hell breaks loose. Sleeping at night is replaced with naps that come in 2 to 4 hour intervals 24/7. The distinction between day and night is a blur. AGMA looked like an extra on The Walking Dead.

We had our second son when our first was 18 months old. This was a brilliant (if unintended) plan. We front loaded all of the baby induced sleep deprivation into a 3 year time frame.

AGMA was so exhausted one night that I didn’t hear my older son (who was 2 at the time) coughing and wheezing in the middle of the night. I didn’t hear Hubs get up. Nor did I hear the garage door open and close when Hubs took son to the emergency room. Nor did I hear them return from the emergency room. I found out about it all the next morning.

Oops…

By the time the kids are old enough to sleep solidly through the night, your sleep cycle is so mangled that you wake up in the middle of the night for no reason.

This lasts until they become teenagers and start going out on the weekends with friends. Now you can’t sleep because you have to stay up to wait for them to come home. This was pre-cell phone tracking. We used to have to depend on them finding a landline to get in touch with us if they were going to be late.

Which they never could seem to find.

So when they finally leave home (assuming they ever do leave home) for college or to live on their own, you are sad. Really. But you think that you will be able to finally get a good night’s sleep.

Nope.

What time is it kids?

“It’s time for perimenopause and menopause!”

Now AGMA’s waking up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat. Or at a minimum, kicking off all of the covers to try to cool down. Then waking up an hour later to put the covers back on because I’m cold. Over and over. And over.

This went on for 6 years until the plumbing finally turned off.

TMI?

But at this point, sleeping though the night now was being thwarted by modern technology. WTF?

Those damned blue light screens… On your TV, laptop, phone and tablet. Google “how blue light affects sleep”. We do a number on our brain when we stare at those things in the evening.

It interrupts our Circadian rhythm. Not a good thing.

And as long as we’re talking about interruptions, Hubs doesn’t help AGMA’s sleep issues.

I’m an early to bed, early to rise type of gal. He’s a late to bed, late to rise kinda guy. So every night at 1:30 AM, AGMA’s roused by his bathroom ritual. And him feeding the cats.

But AGMA being AGMA, and needing her beauty sleep to keep me from being a raging bitch, has found some solutions.

Friends and family are truly thankful.

I take some natural sleep aids (Holy Basil and Tryptophan) that are non-habit forming and pretty effective. On rare occasions, I take a big pharma sleep aid if I have a long run the next day or am on an international flight, and really need to get a good night’s sleep.

AGMA bought an eye mask and ear plugs. Presto! Hubs doesn’t wake me up anymore when he comes to bed. I’m like Sgt Schultz… I hear nothing. I see nothing. I just hope our smoke alarm doesn’t go off in the middle of the night.

I started running. On run days, I sleep soooo much better at night.

AGMA needs to get better about the blue light stuff. My phone and my tablet both have those blue light filters that you can put on the the evening, but I don’t use them enough.

I still get up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, but because of my running or natural sleep aids, I go right back to sleep when I get back in bed. Most nights.

And then tRump became president.

AGMA’s still trying to figure out how to get around the nightmares that one’s causing.

Is it 2020 yet?

Transfiguration

16well_pear-blog480

OMG, OMG, OMG…

On Sunday, I read an article in the New York Times titled Researchers Track an Unlikely Culprit in Weight Gain that just might change AGMA’s life.

And the life of every apple shaped post-menopausal woman with wonky bones and a draggin’ booty.

I mean, this is BIG!

Researchers have discovered that the suppression of a single hormone in ovary-less female mice did amazing, wonderful, marvelous things.

From the article… “In mouse studies, blocking the hormone solves those problems, increasing the calories burned, reducing abdominal fat, slowing bone loss and even encouraging physical activity.”

A single hormone. Let that sink in ladies.

Can it really be that simple? Can we really transform from apples back to pears? And have stronger bones and more energy?

AGMA loves to imagine an alternate pear universe.

The offending hormone is F.S.H. – follicle stimulating hormone. In women, it stimulates the production of little eggies that can eventually turn into little humans. Given a little Barry White playing in the background…

AGMA’d think after enduring a lifetime of monthly cramps, bad moods, and having to deal with tampons, pads, gross leaks and ruined clothes, our bodies would be happy to be done with all that when our reproductive system start flipping the off switches.

Nah, baby nah. The retribution has just started.

Among a myriad of other things, menopause really pisses off the pituitary gland. It starts pumping out mass quantities of F.S.H.

And that’s when the trouble starts.

We wake up one morning and search in vain. What happened to our waist? It was just there yesterday.  WTF?

And we find it’s been replaced by a large blob of grossosity.

That never. goes. away. ever.

And, on the nights we manage to get a decent night’s sleep – which doesn’t happen very often because of some other body chemicals that go cattywhampus – our arse is still dragging the next day.

That never. goes. away. ever.

And a DEXA scan shows that some of our backbone, which has always been a symbol of our endurance, resilience and courage, is slowly leaking away. We’re given big pharma meds with potentially dangerous side effects, and warnings about brittle bones.

And, for all but the most determined individuals, the combination of these often work together to cause women to get very sedentary.   It get’s real easy to sit in on the couch, surf the ‘net, snack on whatever’s in the fridge or in the panty, and watch Antiques Roadshow reruns.  Which only exacerbates things.

Yikes – exacerbate – now there’s a word AGMA is sure would flummox 45 and the mental giants that surround him…

In the words of my grandson, “No fair!”

Hell, AGMA runs flippin’ marathons, and I still can’t get rid of the grossosity. Or replace lost bone. Or feel energized.

“No fair!”

But Dr. Mone Zaidi of the Icahn School of Medicine at Mount Sinai in New York City wants to change all that for us. He’s currently working on an anti-F.S.H. antibody to test on humans.

God bless Dr. Zaidi!

I wonder if he’s accepting test subjects in Georgia?

Pick me, pick me!

AGMA can’t imagine the implications if his research proves that suppressing F.S.H. in women will do all the wonderful things it does in mice. At the very least, he will instantly become a rock star-like celebrity and possibly could have his likeness added to Mt. Rushmore.

Dr. Zaidi for President 2020?

Women’s fashion will need to be totally resized.  Donations of large waist/hip pants to charity organizations will surge. Profits of the big pharma companies that make those questionable bone replacement drugs will dip. And Antiques Roadshow viewership will decrease dramatically.

And AGMA would be a glorious pear again.

Pick me, pick me!

P.S.  If you haven’t had a chance to read my reblog of Monday of my friend Dooke’s post please take a look at it.  I know it’s long, but it’s a beautiful story of a life quest realized.   And it might bring a tear to your eye like it did to crusty ol’ AGMA!