Life, As We Know It

 Hibernation is for hedgehogs. And skunks. And bears. And me. 

That thought was on a loop in my mind as I left the Clinic.

“It’s something between torpor, and sedation, and suspended animation…” The doctor had explained.

“This is a very, very innovative and exploratory therapy. During the time you will be under, you will have time to dream, to think, to examine your life so far… and make plans for your future. There will be Life, but not as you know it right now. There will be Friendships, Motion, and Sustenance, so do not worry about that, at all. Your physical and mental health will be taken care of, while you sleep. You will wake up refreshed, and without bedsores. The idea is to re-align your mental equilibrium…”

It all began when I was diagnosed with “Winter Sadness” - Seasonal Affective Disorder. My parents used to tell me to ‘snap out of it’, but try as I might, I could never get rid of the feelings of impending doom. And then, they died in a car crash.

I used to cocoon myself in my blanket and isolate myself from the world, coming up for air only when I needed to use the bathroom, and to drag the greengrocer’s delivery box inside.

Having a shower was too much of an effort. I only ever ate raw fruits and vegetables, which probably saved me from losing my teeth and becoming obese, as normally happens to fellow sufferers.

I knew that part of my cure would involve sitting in the sun for at least an hour – so with great effort I moved my bed so that the sun shone on half of it during the morning… and that was my Vitamin D fix, done.

During a visit to the doctor, with my mother when she was still alive, the doctor had said that I might have hereditary chemical imbalances in the brain that were causing my anxiety, depression, lack of concentration, loss of motivation, oversleeping, social withdrawal and stress. Ma was so offended that she dragged me out of the clinic, and we never went back.

In the beginning, I tried to walk round and round the table for ten minutes. Then, even that became too much of an effort. I tried white light and neon tubes, but they annoyed me. I did try, really, I did. In fact, I went to a doctor… who prescribed anti-depressants. and that made me feel that I was a failure.

The sarcasm, apathy and cynicism were, according to my Ma, born with me. And my moods had always fluctuated.  However, I had motivation and I was very physically active – attitudes that are usually absent when one has Winter Sadness. But then, I was never a textbook case of anything.

Gradually, after my parents died and I had no reason to go to work - I was their only heiress, and rich beyond dreams of avarice - I balked at going out ‘for noting’.

I brought the outside inside by purchasing a huge television, and leaving it with the desktop picture of a garden full of flowers and butterflies. After some time, even that failed to cheer me up. Neither did the several light therapy lamps scattered about the house. I was either ensconced in my dressing gown, in bed, chilled to the bone despite the fact that the heater was as high as it would go… or pacing the rooms, from one lamp to the other, wondering when the world would end.

“I never had any close friendships or romantic entanglements, no!” The Doctor said he had to ask me these endless questions, because he had a form to fill in. “Before I allow you to take this therapy, I have to know all about you, and anything that has thrown your life out of whack.”

At the back of my mind, there was always that scene at the doctor’s, when he’s said I might have hereditary chemical imbalances. What he meant, in other words, was that I might have a genetic predisposition to mental health issues; in plain language - that I had inherited my off-kilter craziness from Ma.

Hibernation therapy was still in its infancy – one of the preparations for it was to have a regular sleep schedule, so that the circadian rhythm would be steady. I tried to catch up during the day, because insomnia was at its worst at night.

I realised that sleeping in on weekends was not good, because I had rebound headaches. In another life, it seems I had tried volunteering at a charity shop… but I was always re-arranging shelves, and this did not sit well with the others, who thought I was showing them up. So, I quit.

I didn’t want to miss my chance. As long as I logged in at least six hours of sleep, the doctor said I would be considered for the trial. That was as good an incentive as any.

I tried yoga. I tired vegetarianism. I tried melatonin supplements, and I gave up coffee. I tried chamomile and lavender tisanes. They tasted of disinfectant, so I just opened the teabags and scattered them over the soil in the front garden, and I was pleasantly surprised when blooms appeared, and butterflies were attracted to them… at least they served some purpose.

I could not differentiate between sadness and depression; they were one big messed up ball of wool. Well, two, actually – of the same colour, so I didn’t know where one ended and the other began.  

I tried to schedule Quiet Time – but I became antsy after five minutes. But I didn’t say this, fearing it would preclude me from participating in the rehabilitation treatment.  

The long and the short of it is that I tried anything, and everything, that was suggested. I pretended that I was having varying degrees of success, and the doctor agreed that nothing could be expected to work 100%, and that is why, indeed, they were looking for volunteers to try the remedy.

I read a lot. Science fiction, mostly, but I also read the first-edition classics that I had inherited from my parents.   

I was acting the part perfectly; my performance indicated that my psychological state was ready, willing and able to take part in the trial. The doctor could tick all the boxes, because according to him, I was one of the perfect runners for the ten places available.

And I made it. What I didn’t know was that the experiment was a means to an end, and not just the solution to my Winter Sadness.  

So, after sleeping for a whole year, I am now about to board the International Space Station, living life in the fast lane – literally!

All of us don’t mind the deprivation of social interaction, because we have each other; and decreased gravity doesn’t matter, either.

Along with my colleagues, I will be travelling at approximately 17,000 miles per hour, 300 miles above the Earth. I will get to see 16 sunrises and sunsets every 24-hour period, while floating in a tin can, as David Bowie succinctly puts it.