Ambien

Back in August I could not sleep. I usually have a really hard time falling asleep, but August was worse than usual. My brain just does not know how to turn itself off. The only thing that would sometimes work was to wait until really, really late to even go to bed, and then I would still need the television on. The noise helps to block the voices in my brain. Anyway, in late August I decided to stop begging my family and friends for Ambien and try to get some myself.

I went to a new local doctor, who was recommend to me from a friend. She incidentally had no trouble getting Ambien from him. So I go and get the usual check up and tell him I am having difficulty falling asleep. He asks me a million questions about why I think I can’t fall asleep. I answer that there are a million reasons, but could I please just have some anyway. He asked me how much caffeine I consumed throughout a day and at what time. Yikes – I think. I told him the truth – stupid, I know. I told him I have about 3 cups of coffee in the morning and maybe one diet coke around 3. He told me it was way too much and way too late in the day. I told him I needed the caffeine, as I wasn’t sleeping but getting up early with my kids and going strong all day long.

He told me to try and cut out all caffeine and get back to him in a few weeks.

Then I asked him about another drug, the name of I can’t even remember. I told him that my mother thinks (and still does) that I should be on some kind of mental balancing drug. The doctor asked if my mother was a doctor – I said no but she is a neurotic Jewish mother and isn’t that the same thing.

He asked me if I was depressed - I said no. He said the drug I was asking about was an anti-depressant and that if I thought I needed it I should get therapy instead of getting drugs.

Needless to say I left his office without any prescriptions and still unable to sleep. I did try and cut back on the caffeine – but really that lasted all of five seconds.

Fast forward three months and one traumatic incident.

I called his office yesterday and asked if they would call in a prescription for Ambien. The nurse was appalled I would even ask. You MUST come in, she kept repeating, even when I said I was already a patient and the doctor and I had talked about it. She just repeated that I must come in.

So today – I have zero time, but in between school and Hebrew school, I run over to his office. I am sitting in the little room for a long time. Each second I am thinking about what I want to say and how to approach him. I am really just trying hard not to cry. Twenty minutes go by and now I can’t help it – I just start to cry. Mostly because I just want to get the hell out of his office and don’t really want to tell someone else about my dead husband.

In walks the doctor. “What’s new,” he asks.

I say, “My husband died 7 weeks and three days ago.”

“Oh my gosh,” he replies.

“Yes,” I say “and I am still not sleeping.”

He asks me how he died. The freaking dreaded question which I now answer almost robotically. “He killed himself,” I say.

“Was he depressed?” the doctor asks.

I don’t roll my eyes and just say, “Well, I guess so.”

He asks more details and then says to me, “You know, you really should go talk to someone about this. You have suffered a severe traumatic experience.”

“I am blogging,” I reply, “Can I have some Ambien now?”

He writes me a prescription, with refills – go me! Then he asks, “What else do you need?”

Wow I am thinking, this is a change. “Nothing,” I reply.

“Are you depressed?” he asks.

“I am sad, not depressed,” I answer. “I don’t need anything else.”

He looks really sad too. I feel bad that I thought poorly of him in August. He looks like he wants to help me more but doesn’t know what else to say. “You are young,” he finally says. “You have a lot of life left to live. You have two small children – there is a lot of good to come.”

“I know,” I answer.

He then proceeds to tell me his schedule for the next two weeks in case I should need anything at all. I thank him, grab the prescription and run for the door.

I haven’t filled the script yet. I am too tired. In fact, as I write, I am utterly exhausted. Maybe tonight I will sleep unassisted. Maybe I don’t even need the Ambien after all. Maybe I just needed a piece of paper that says I earned it.