As I mentioned in the previous post, I continued with my plan of getting my automotive training. It was then, in September of ’79, that my insomnia showed its initial taunting. It was just playing with me, tickling me with its feather of horror.
At the time, I didn’t really know what to make of it. I didn’t understand why I couldn’t sleep. But it now had a foothold and wasn’t letting go.
My wife and I were living off of her full-time, minimum-wage income and my GI Bill. If you’ve ever lived like that, you know there’s little money left after the bills are paid. So, in November I paid a visit to the local veteran’s hospital. After swearing on paper that I had no money to pay for my care, I was permitted to discuss my case with a doctor–I just love government red tape.
As I remember, the doctor didn’t take much history. He asked how many hours I was taking at the university, and that was about it. Then he wrote me a prescription for Dalmane, with no refills.
I was 23 years old at the time and knew nothing about medicine. I would learn a lot about Dalmane over the next few years.
We all know that no two people respond to medications in the exact same way. At first, the Dalmane worked like a charm: It made me sleep. And that’s all I wanted. However, it didn’t cure my problem. In the meantime, I still had to live life. After I’d taken all of the pills, I was right back to where I started. My use of Dalmane is a story in itself, which I’ll write more about in future posts.
The fact that the semester drew to a close had no affect on lessening my insomnia. I was hoping that relief from academic stress would allow me to sleep, but it didn’t. How naive I was!
I’m not saying this to brag, but to let you know how simply astonished I was, considering my sleep deprivation, to discover when I opened the envelop containing my grade slip that I’d made all A’s and one B for the semester. Miracles do happen.
In high school I was lazy, didn’t care if I learned anything, and didn’t like to study. Six years later, when I applied to the university, a person in the admissions office told me that my high school grades weren’t good enough for them to accept me. But, since I was an honorably discharged veteran with Illinois residency immediately before and after my enlistment, they were required by state law to admit me. That’s the only way I was able to get in.
In December, I took a part-time job at a Goodyear shop as a mechanic, which presented me with yet another new aspect of life–learning how to be an employee with insomnia. Regardless of how lousy I felt, night-after-sleepless night, I still had to get up and go to work.
By that time, everyone in the family knew of my sleeping problem. In my family of origin, we opened gifts on Christmas Eve night. I remember entering my parents’ house through their back door and saying to my dad, “Hey, Dad. Guess what time I went to sleep last night”? “Five o’clock this morning.” (In a way, that sounds like a set up and punch line you might hear Jay Leno say.)
I don’t know why that one instance in life has stuck with me over the years, but it has.
My insomnia was in its infancy. Little did I know it would affect the rest of my life…and the lives of those around me.
