Читать книгу NORMAL Doesn't Live Here Anymore - Barb BSL Owen - Страница 26

From the moment my phone rang on Saturday morning, my ability to sleep proportionately diminished with each decision I made about my parents. I’d heard other people describe the disruption of sleep as hospital-head or caregiver’s syndrome. In a sort of oddly comforting way, I appreciated the affirmation that I wasn’t the only person who had experienced this shift. Never before in my life had sleep been so elusive.

Several days after my parents’ admission to the hospital, my body, no longer able to function, kindly collapsed. Sleep briefly took me away from the reality of the hospital, and from talking, thinking, planning, and fearing the unknown. The blessed break didn’t last very long; just long enough to keep me going.

As time marched on I discovered that when I did sleep, I visited a marvelous place where my spirit sometimes quieted enough to receive a bit of clarity. I lost track of the times when I felt as though I were drowning in the ocean of decisions, having no idea what step to take next. Without explanation, in the place between sleep and awakening, reliable answers often bubbled up and upon fully waking, I trusted the guidance.

The stress of caring for my parents never again lessened as, during any twenty-four hour period, there was always more to deal with than humanly possible. Hours turned into days. Days became weeks. Weeks grew into months and months eventually became years. My sleep difficulties continued and ironically, when I finally found the time to sleep, somehow, I seemed to have forgotten how.

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