Sunday, 10 September 2017
Fighting to sleep.
I never thought I'd be fighting for sleep - it always seemed so easy. I just used to collapse on a bed and woke up in the morning.
These days it's an unbelievable battle against pain, boredom and frustration.
Lying down really hurts.
I have a routine and a war plan. I get ready so that I take my painkillers at midnight, which means I'm usually in bed by about 1230, even if it is a struggle.
I drop straight off and keep my fingers crossed that I get some decent sleep out of it. If I'm lucky I get a couple of hours, last night it was only 50 minutes; I woke up at 0120.
What is the point of that?
I then spend the next couple of hours in bored agony, shifting and shuffling and trying not to wake up Robyn. The minutes hang in the air like icicles.
They hurt too.
At four I take paracetamol and (it's bizarre) I usually get a definite hour and a half's sleep out of that.
Then it's a struggle to stay in bed as long as possible - to reduce the swelling in my legs and feet. The alternative is getting up and shuffling off to the front room to my armchair where I usually get a bit more sleep.
I can tell you, by the time morning comes, I'm exhausted.
(a don't stop till you drop production)
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