Thursday, April 14, 2016

We’ve Separated!

Yes, you read it right. After six months of 24/7 togetherness, my wife and I have reached the point where ol’ Popeye found himself so often. We’ve had all we can stands, and we can’t stands no more. So, for the last three nights, I’ve slept upstairs—in my bed of all places. Until I started having ticker problems, we’d slept separately for years anyway, due to my horrendous snoring.

For the folks reading this who haven’t followed my misadventures this year, I took the pooch out to pee in the wee hours of the morning sometime in June or July, and ended up praying to God to get me back in the house. I felt queasy, couldn’t breathe right, and had the uneasy feeling that something might be wrong with my heart. I finally got back inside and upstairs to my bedroom but, as had been occurring some before that, I soon felt like I was suffocating and had to get up and try napping in the swiveling office chair in front of my computer. I didn’t sleep any more the rest of the night.

I had many nights similar after that, plus, I got out of breath easily and often had to stop halfway across the parking lot to catch my breath as I walked to my work truck of a morning. I felt semi-sick a lot, but I got sort of used to it. Some days, I slept sick, worked sick and went home sick. Other days, I seemed to be pretty good. A couple times when I went to the doctor, everything checked out okay. He thought maybe the blubber inside my ribcage was shifting when I laid down, causing the suffocating feeling at night and the daytime shortness of breath. I did a lot of praying for the Lord’s protection during that time.

Finally, on arriving home on the second day of October, I felt so bad that I told my wife that I needed to be checked out by a doctor. At the quick-med place, my heart wasn’t beating; it was sloshing like a washing machine. They tried to send me to the hospital in an ambulance, but I prayed and then drove myself there. I was there four days as they pumped stuff into me to help me pee off a few pounds, and gave me other stuff to regulate my then diagnosed Atrial Fibrillation.

Arriving home I discovered that my wife had moved the parlor chair from the living room, where I’d been sleeping a lot, to the TV room, which also serves as her bedroom. I preferred where I’d placed it before, right by the front door. It was handy when the dog needed to go out plus, with my legally-shortened shotgun within reach, I was in a good position to guard the front door and our vehicles just outside. Country folks have to think like that sometimes. My wife wouldn’t hear to me returning there, however. I think she just wanted to be the first to know if I croaked, as opposed to the dog finding me by the front door.

For a long time, she was more tolerant of my snoring than she used to be. And I seemed amazingly tolerant of the fact that she ran her TV all night. The pooch LOVED the fact that we all slept in the inner sanctum of our cave-like “cabin.” I got a defibrillator installed about six weeks ago, though, and I believe that the missus has decided that I’m going to live to aggravate her for many years to come. For whatever the reason, she’s been increasingly irritated about my snoring, the fact that she feels she has to keep the TV turned lower than she likes, so as not to wake me up, and the fact that my presence keeps her from doing the washing and vacuuming at weird hours of the night like she used to do. I too, have found myself less and less tolerant of an inane 24 hour diet of drama-filled TV “chic shows.”

So, I took her suggestion and tried sleeping in my bed again, as my doctor had recently suggested also (to let my legs drain off fluid at night). I’m not getting any MORE sleep yet, but it’s far more peaceful. I’ve traded butt pain, from sitting so much, to temporary back pain of a morning when I get up, as my vertebrae settle back into their daytime positions. My shins are much smaller of a morning, causing me to instantly lose two pounds (fluid). Plus, when I can’t sleep, I can either turn on a light and read, which I couldn’t do downstairs, or turn on the TV and watch something that interests ME. Yup, it looks like we’ve separated for good! © 2016


M. Silvius said...

Where I grew up the called that together but not scrambled.

Lady Locust said...

Sounds like it just might work out:)

Gorges Smythe said...

As long as it works, Michael! lol

LL, I reckon if we survived six months of 24/7 togetherness, most anything else should be a piece of cake!

Rick Beaty said...

May want to talk to your doc about a cpap machine. Generally covered by insurance helps me sleep.

Chickenmom said...

You are too funny! Glad everything is working out - including the water! :o)

Sixbears said...

Glad it worked out. I used to snore until I got on a c-pap so that doesn't bother my lovely wife anymore. Now she's the one who snores.

deborah harvey said...

Sleep knits up the raveled sleeve of care. And makes you lose weight, too.

Gorges Smythe said...

Getting a sleep test before long, Rick.

Thanks, Cm.

Will SHE admit it, Sixbears? Mine won't! lol

Eight pounds so far, dh!