A Treatise on the Incubus, or Night-Mare, Disturbed Sleep, Terrific Dreams and Nocturnal Visions

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John Augustine Waller. A Treatise on the Incubus, or Night-Mare, Disturbed Sleep, Terrific Dreams and Nocturnal Visions

INTRODUCTION

THE INCUBUS, &c

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This disease, vulgarly called Night-Mare, was observed and described by physicians and other writers at a very early period. It was called by the Greeks, εφιαλτης, and by the Romans, Incubus, both of which names are expressive of the sensation of weight and oppression felt by the persons labouring under it, and which conveys to them the idea of some living being having taken its position on the breast, inspiring terror, and impeding respiration and all voluntary motion. It is not very surprising that persons labouring under this extraordinary affection, should ascribe it to the agency of some dæmon, or evil spirit; and we accordingly find that this idea of its immediate cause has generally prevailed in all ages and countries. Its real nature has never been satisfactorily explained, nor has it by any means met with that attention from modern physicians which it merits: indeed it scarcely seems to be considered by them as a disease, or to deserve at all the attention of a physician. Those, however, who labour under this affection to any great degree, can bear testimony to the distress and alarm which it occasions; in many cases rendering the approach of night a cause of terror, and life itself miserable, from the dread of untimely suffocation. The little attention paid to this disease by medical men, has left the subjects of it without a remedy, and almost without hope. Its nature and its cause have been altogether misunderstood by those who have lately given any opinion upon it. It appears a general opinion that it only happens to persons lying upon the back, and who have eaten large suppers; the causes of it have consequently been traced to mechanical pressure upon the lungs, arising from a full stomach; and a change of position, together with the avoiding eating any supper, has been thought all that was necessary to prevent its attack. To those, however, who are unfortunately afflicted with it to any degree, it is well known by experience, that no change of position, or abstinence, will secure them from the attacks of this formidable disturber of the night. As I have so long been an unfortunate victim to this enemy of repose, and have suffered more from its repeated attacks than any other person I have ever met with, I hope to be able to throw some light on the nature of this affection, and to point out some mode of relief to the unfortunate victims of it.

The late Dr. Darwin, who had an admirable talent for explaining the phenomena of animal life in general, is of opinion, that this affection is nothing more than sleeping too sound; in which situation of things the power of volition, or command over the muscles of voluntary motion, is too completely suspended; and that the efforts of the patient to recover this power, constitute the disease we call Night-Mare. In order to reconcile this hypothesis with the real state of things, he is obliged to have recourse to a method not unusual amongst theoretic philosophers, both in medicine and other sciences—that is, when the hypothesis does not exactly apply to the phenomenon to be explained by it, to twist the phenomenon itself into such a shape as will make it fit, rather than give up a favourite hypothesis. Now, in order to mould the Night-Mare into the proper form, to make this hypothesis apply to it, he asserts, first, that it only attacks persons when very sound asleep; and secondly, that there cannot exist any difficulty of breathing, since the mere suspension of volition will not produce any, the respiration going on as well asleep as awake; so that he thinks there must needs be some error in this part of the account. Any person, however, that has experienced a paroxysm of Night-Mare, will be disposed rather to give up Dr. Darwin’s hypothesis than to mistrust his own feelings as to the difficulty of breathing, which is far the most terrific and painful of any of the symptoms. The dread of suffocation, arising from the inability of inflating the lungs, is so great, that the person, who for the first time in his life is attacked by this “worst phantom of the night,” generally imagines that he has very narrowly escaped death, and that a few seconds more of the complaint would have inevitably proved fatal. This disease, although neglected by modern physicians, was well described and understood by those of the seventeenth century, as well as by the Greeks and Romans.1 There are few affections more universally felt by all classes of society, yet it is seldom at present considered of sufficient consequence to require medical advice. To those nevertheless who, from sedentary habits, and depraved digestion, are the most frequent subjects of it, it is a source of great anxiety and misery, breaking in upon their repose, and filling the mind with constant alarms for more serious consequences, “making night hideous,” and rendering the couch, which is to others the sweet refuge from all the cares of life, to them an object of dread and terror. To such persons, any alleviation of their sufferings will be considered an act of philanthropy; as they are now in general only deterred from applying to the practitioners of medicine for relief, from the idea that their case is out of the reach of medicine.

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In tracing out the symptoms and mode of attack, I shall particularize those symptoms which I have experienced in my own person, and take notice likewise of those described by other writers on the subject.

First then, this disease attacks always during sleep. This is a truth of which I am now well assured, although frequently the evidence of my senses has apparently produced a contrary conviction. Whatever may be the situation of the patient at the moment previous to the invasion of the disease, he is at that moment asleep, although the transition from the waking to the sleeping state may be so rapid as to be imperceptible. I will explain this part of the subject more fully by and by, at present we will assume the fact, and proceed to enumerate the symptoms. If the patient be in a profound sleep, he is generally alarmed with some disagreeable dream; he imagines that he is exposed to some danger, or pursued by some enemy which he cannot avoid; frequently he feels as though his legs were tied, or deprived of the power of motion; sometimes he fancies himself confined in some very close place, where he is in danger of suffocation, or at the bottom of a cavern or vault from which his return is intercepted. It will not unfrequently happen, that this is the whole of the sensation which the disease, for the time, produces, when it goes off without creating any further annoyance: the patient either falls into an oblivious slumber, or the alarming dream is succeeded by one more pleasant. In this case the disease is not fully formed, but only threatens an invasion; it proves however that the pre-disposition to it exists, and that the person is in danger of it. But when the paroxysm does actually take place, the uneasiness of the patient in his dream rapidly increases, till it ends in a kind of consciousness that he is in bed, and asleep; but he feels to be oppressed with some weight which confines him upon his back and prevents his breathing, which is now become extremely laborious, so that the lungs cannot be fully inflated by any effort he can make. The sensation is now the most painful that can be conceived; the person becomes every instant more awake and conscious of his situation: he makes violent efforts to move his limbs, especially his arms, with a view of throwing off the incumbent weight, but not a muscle will obey the impulse of the will: he groans aloud, if he has strength to do it, while every effort he makes seems to exhaust the little remaining vigour. The difficulty of breathing goes on increasing, so that every breath he draws, seems to be almost the last that he is likely to draw; the heart generally moves with increased velocity, sometimes is affected with palpitation; the countenance appears ghastly, and the eyes are half open. The patient, if left to himself, lies in this state generally about a minute or two, when he recovers all at once the power of volition: upon which he either jumps up in bed, or instantly changes his position, so as to wake himself thoroughly. If this be not done, the paroxysm is very apt to recur again immediately, as the propensity to sleep is almost irresistible, and, if yielded to, another paroxysm of Night-Mare is for the most part inevitable.

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