old man's lament

There have been several versions of the song Tossin’ and Turnin’. Bobby Lewis recorded it in 1961. I think the Guess Who did a cover version in 1965. It’s the version I play over and over in my head when I can’t sleep. Unfortunately, that’s becoming more and more frequent. I sometimes get up in the middle of the night and pick up my guitar, hoping my playing will put me to sleep. Stupid me! It just stimulates me but I’m getting pretty good at playing the chords. Inevitably, my wife wakes up and castigates me for making noise. I don’t blame her. It’s selfish. At least I’m playing my acoustic guitar and not my electric. No excuse. Playing and singing in the middle of the night while my wife is sleeping is a selfish act. Telling her that the song is really about a lovesick guy whose sleep is disrupted by thoughts of his lover doesn’t mitigate her anger. In fact, it makes it worse. We argue all night and don't sleep.

Insomnia is the bane of an old man’s existence. The older he gets, the larger his prostate. The larger his prostate, the more times he gets up in the middle of the night to urinate. Each time he rises, it becomes harder to get back to sleep. That’s why you have so many older men acting like zombies during the day. If it’s not the frequency of urination disturbing his sleep, it’s sleep apnea. That’s where people stop breathing for long periods during sleep. It can lead to multiple health problems and inevitably to non-restorative sleep. A tell-tale sign of sleep apnea is loud snoring. It almost led to a divorce in my household. When I stopped playing my guitar in the middle of the night, I started snoring loudly. My wife had just started sleeping through the night when my snoring began. It was another jolt to her sleeping serenity. Eventually she’d nudge me, and I’d roll over but without the desired result. The snoring continued until my wife would shake me awake. Then we would spend the rest of night arguing. Eventually, I was diagnosed with sleep apnea and wore a mask attached to a CPAP machine. I looked like some sort of alien. I stopped snoring but the noise from the machine kept my wife awake. She moved into our spare bedroom.

Still, my chronic insomnia persisted. I still needed to urinate three or four times nightly. If I forgot to take off my mask when I rose, I’d trip over the hose connected to CPAP machine. Once I hit my head on the floor and had a concussion. It took days to recover. The doctor told my wife to make sure I didn’t sleep the next night. We laughed in his face! That night, I played my whole repertoire of sleep songs. My wife sang along. The Cure’s Let’s Go To Bed and Corey Hart’s I Wear my Sunglasses at Night was stretching it but we had fun. It was the first time we could laugh at our insomnia.

During the day, I felt like I was walking through mud. My brain was always in a fog. I forgot words and names of people. No, it wasn’t dementia. It was fatigue or lack of sleep. Eventually, I tried all the medications for prostrate problems, and they reduced my sleep time visits to the toilet by fifty percent. Still, two visits were way too much. Besides, the medications gave me new daytime problems. I couldn’t rise from a sitting or lying position without feeling like I was going to pass out. So, I tried surgery, not my first choice. My wife got tired of me pissing and moaning about the catheter I had to wear in my unmentionables for five days. Still, we were both relieved that I was able to sleep through the night without getting up to pee. Unfortunately, there was still the mask and the CPAP machine. Eventually however, new technology allowed me to get rid of the mask and the machine. I hated having an implant, but it was better than the alternative. My wife could finally return to our bedroom.

You would think my sleeping problems would be over. Nope. I sill tossed and turned all night. Bobby Lewis’ voice singing would play in my head with each toss and each turn. He’d alternate with the Guess Who. I knew better than to sing along or play my guitar. I was getting desperate. My brain fog was getting worse. I was slurring my words and I felt like I was wearing cement shoes when I walked or ran. Desperate times called for desperate measures. First, I tried a shot of vodka before sleep, but I’d wake up in the middle of the night feeling buzzed and have a terrible hangover the next morning. Then I tried Ambien, but my wife found charges on our credit cards made in the middle of the night. THC gummies made me hallucinate. Benadryl was next but my wife showed me an article that claimed that it caused dementia. So, that therapy was quickly discarded. Next, I tried hypnosis, but I became paranoid and imagined that the hypnotist was making me quack like a duck. Insomnia was making me crazy. Finally, I joined Insomniacs Anonymous. Their meetings were held at midnight. We shared our frustrations and failed remedies. I became their nightly entertainment. My repertoire of sleep and insomnia songs expanded. Extreme fatigue gave my voice a Dylanesque quality. My guitar playing paradoxically sharpened. Soon, I started playing all night in subways and airports. I developed a reputation as the Nighttime busker. I gathered a following of insomniacs. My wife would occasionally attend my ‘concerts’. The extra money was an unexpected bonus. Ironically, we both began to nap during the day. We had discovered that our internal clock had been reset. We joined the millions of night shift workers who slept during the day. For the first time in years, I felt refreshed and alive!

The above account is purely fictional but based on some facts. If you suffer from insomnia. Get help or you may become demented like me.