The Rhythm of the Night (at 14 Woody Views Way)
As I lay in bed with eyes wide open, I feel the rhythm of the night playing out, like a musical score from some obscure off, off Broadway musical. Mr MICDL (Menopausal, Insomniac, Crazy Dog Lady) is playing his allocated part in the orchestra, and me, mine.
I may have mentioned previously that I am a very light sleeper. When I met Mr MICDL in my late 30s, he was my soulmate, in more ways than one. He also is missing the good night sleep gene, but times 10X.
Upon starting our relationship and having sleepovers, even myself, who I thought of as a seasoned professional of the sleepless night ensemble, was put to shame by this highly acclaimed master of his craft. He wins, hands down, no contest. I was amazed at how many things could affect the balance of his sleeping act. It made my simple tossing and turning, lying there staring at the ceiling seem amateur in comparison.
It brought into play things that drove him mad, such as a crease in the bedding underneath him, uncomfortable clothing or clothing that was too tight or rode up, blankets too hot and heavy, pillows too soft, cars doing wheelies in the next suburb, the sound of the motorway in the far distance, ticking clocks … I was clearly out of my league. We often joke about how we need to sleep in a temperature-controlled bubble; obviously soundproofed too – that goes without saying.
He, however, also brought something to the fore that I had not experienced for many a year … a grown man snoring. Not only snoring, but full-on sleep apnoea – no doing things by halves for this dynamic duo. Now in my 50s, add menopause into our arrangement and the end result is less than optimal.
This is kind of how the ‘musical’ unfolds….
ACT 1 – The Race to the Starting Line
Honing our own individual techniques, we begin the race to who can fall asleep first. This is a very important advantage to secure at the beginning of the night and a prize held tightly onto. I am usually, alas, not the victor in this particular race. Another run on the scoreboard for Mr MICDL, but as I said earlier, he is a master in his own right and I bow to his skill. Having failed this crucial starting block, I am already behind in the race to the finish of our evening concerto.
ACT 2 – The Midnight Serenade
This act is all about the different pitches and chords of the snore sonata. Who knew there were so many variations? For simplicity’s sake, I have given each their own individual title.
1. The ‘pfffttt’ – this is the less innocuous of them, but don’t be fooled by its gentle cadence and sound. It hides a secret crescendo all of its own. It begins usually after Mr MICDL has first drifted off into sleep. A little ‘pfffttt’ sound that escapes from his pursed lips. It sometimes brings a smile to my face just hearing it. However, it has a hidden darker side to it, as after a while a huge ‘pffftttt’ is expelled as it has built up over the ticking minutes. Not so pleasant when lying facing one other and the ‘pffttt’ is felt abruptly on my bare face, complete with sleep breath. This calls for my ‘rollover’ manoeuvre, complete with bed bounce for dramatic effect.
2. The ‘nose whistle’ – not always a regular contributor, this part played by the wind section of the orchestra makes special guest appearances on occasions.
3. The ‘snort’ – this sound effect usually eventuates after the ‘pfffttt’, most normally experienced when Mr MICDL is lying on his back and has fallen into a deeper level of slumber. It usually is loud enough to make both of us jump in fright (and possibly the neighbours who share the bedroom wall with us, as well as the four-legged foofy ones lying outside the door) and could possibly result in another rollover manoeuvre from me or if particularly cranky/sleep-starved, even my own exclamation/sound of some sort.
4. The ‘full-blown snore’ - The final and most spectacular of all in the snore sonata is the ‘full-blown snore’. This is also when the ‘Rule of Three’ usually comes into play (see below under ‘The Disappearing Act’). As I said, this man is a master in his own right and his reputation precedes him. Even my two-legged daughter (also with her own sleep challenges and snore-fest sonata in play with her partner) commented that she could hear Mr MICDL through the closed bedroom door and down the hallway, such is the extent of his mastery and talent. Thank God I love him is all I can say. The poor man is exhausted, and this is why the Rule of Three and the blessing of the spare room were created. We all need our sleep and if that is the only way he can achieve it, then I need to respect that. However, in all fairness, there have been times just before I retreat to the spare room where I confess, I have uttered in exasperation ‘for the love of God!’ (sorry God) and thought about employing the use of a peg on his nose.
ACT 3 – It’s Getting Hot in Here
When we first met, Mr MICDL introduced me to something that changed my sleep forever – the Latex pillow. After years of sleeping on top of two ordinary pillows, usually waking with a crick in my neck, this was a hallelujah moment for me and I have never gone back. After decades of heavy manual work and wearing out nearly every joint in his poor body, Mr MICDL finally purchased a special bed where the mattress is split in two and controlled by a motor that can go up and down at either end, to get into a comfortable position. It’s kind of like sleeping in a big warm hug, although one has to be careful not to roll too close to the centre (known to us as ‘the vortex’) or there is the risk of getting sucked into the gap between the two mattresses. However, the one drawback from this luxury sleeping option is that it is made of Latex. That stuff heats up quicker than you can say ‘self-combustion’ and takes forever to cool down. I may not have mentioned that we live in a tropical climate where winter goes for oh, I don’t know, probably about three weeks. Couple that with a Latex pillow and our cosy love nest quickly turns into more of a Swedish sauna.
Also, in order to stifle the sounds of snores, I often am required to sleep with the pillow over my head in the vain attempt to drown them out – not the most effective of strategies, but desperate times call for desperate measures. So, after our bed and pillows reach maximum temperature, a random arm or leg may be desperately thrust out of the covers or the covers are hastily thrown off altogether, and the need to resort to sleeping on top of them may be called for. As a menopausal insomniac crazy dog lady, I don’t need any additional help to make me self-combust, I’ve got that one covered all on my own thank you very much. This is also when the optional Disappearing Act (see below) may be used.
The Disappearing Act
This is an optional act and a part that can be played by either myself or Mr MICDL. For Mr MICDL this role would be seized upon when, after sleep failing to make its presence known, he could no longer endure the heat of the bed and/or find it impossible to get into a comfortable position, and in desperate need for rest and/or in order to protect me from much thrashing and turning, makes a hasty retreat to the ‘spare room’.
For myself, the disappearing act is usually chosen when I realise that I actually have not slept a single wink and the ‘Rule of Three’ has come into play. The ‘Rule of Three’ is a highly complex (not really) tactic developed by me (and perhaps others who sleep with a partner who snores). This entails three attempts at gently disrupting the snore sonata, by usually a light brush of the shoulder/arm/back and/or a minuscule tap to some area of the upper body (NB: kicking, violent shaking or similar harsh actions are banned from this tactic). This normally results in Mr MICDL turning over or changing positions and interrupting said snore recital. However, there is a limit for this tactic and after three attempts if said snoring resumes and the Rule of Three has failed, then the Disappearing Act is played and off to the spare room I go. But do not think of the ‘spare room’ as a solution to all our sleep challenges, this too has its pitfalls…
However, in the spirit of fairness and transparency, it would be unkind of me to simply reflect on Mr MICDL’s part in this evening sonata, without revealing my own contribution.
As mentioned in an earlier musing, during sleep time I engage in what is known amongst many menopausal women as the ‘rotisserie chicken’ manoeuvre, which comprises of much rolling from side to side, and then back again in an attempt to get comfortable, as well as to douse the self-combustion feelings alluded to previously. I also have been known to mutter and call out in my sleep like some crazy person and/or throw my arms and legs akimbo, whilst fighting off unknown assailants in my dreams. I have at times been roused by a gentle shake or touch by Mr MICDL, kindly trying to awake me from whatever nightmare I am experiencing, which coincidentally could have occurred at the exact moment he had fallen into or had been enjoying a peaceful slumber of his own. I accept my role in this wholeheartedly and unashamedly.
The Finale
Bleary-eyed, we each arise the next morning after our individual roles are completed, ready to face the day (sort of and with much caffeine imbibed), to regroup again that evening and once again play our respective parts.
It is on reflecting on this whole sleep ‘situation’ that the song lyrics of an old Bon Jovi song play over and over in my mind … ‘Till I'm six feet under I won't need a bed. Gonna live while I'm alive, I'll sleep when I'm dead’.
Yeah, right, Mr Bon Jovi, clearly whoever penned that flippant line has never had a bad night’s sleep in their life and don’t know what they’re talking about!