The Princess, The Pea, Insomnia, and Me

Posted: March 28, 2010 in 1
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Ever since my son was born in 1982, I have suffered from insomnia. I’m not blaming him. He was born with a condition that prevented him from sleeping longer than one hour at a time – laryngo trachea (or tracheal) malaise (malaysia, malacia – not sure of the spelling, but the problem involved a not-yet fully developed larynx and trachea that caused breathing problems for him and disrupted his sleep).

Well, here we are nearly 28 years later, and I still can’t sleep through the night. I know, I know, I could blame it on the cancer. After all, those chemotherapy drugs might be the culprit, or maybe it’s the drugs I took to prevent nausea. But I’ve finished taking that kind of chemo. And while I don’t get up every hour anymore, I still awaken every 2 to 4 hours every night. Why?

I’ll tell you why. I am like the Princess in the story, The Princess and the Pea. If you remember the story by Hans Christian Andersen, the way to tell if somebody is truly a Princess is to place a pea under about 20 mattresses, put a woman on top of the pile of mattresses, and if she feels the pea, she is a princess.

Last night as I was tossing and turning I noticed that the sheet underneath me had a fold in it. That’s pretty much all it took to disrupt my sleep – a slight fold in the sheet.

So I got up, straightened out the sheet, carefully climbed back into bed so as not to wrinkle the sheet, and fell asleep until my tossing and turning caused yet another fold.

Is it any wonder I can get no sleep at night? Is there no solution to my incessant insomnia? What do I have to do to get some sleep around here? Take drugs?

Definitely not. But I will not suffer from endless nights with tossing and turning, either. After all these years, I think I finally understand why I can’t sleep at night. I have to find my prince.

But rather than post a flyer, take out an ad in a newspaper, or plead with readers on craigslist, I am posting my request in this blog.

Oh, Prince Baby, here’s your little sweet pea. Where are you?

P.S. For those of you who are bound to tell me that Prince is a dog, you should know that I am allergic to dogs. And for those of you who are thinking of Prince as in the musician, Prince, I have only seven words to say to you, “When doves cry in the purple rain.”

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