Chapter Seven: The Turning Point

After graduating from college in 2013, I worked my last summer at Taco Bell and was hired on as a fourth grade teacher, my dream job, at my dream school.

In many ways, I looked forward to having a normal sleep schedule as much, if not more, than I looked forward to actually teaching. My family was excited for me, particularly my mom who'd grown increasingly concerned about the sleep habits I'd formed.

Unfortunately, I realized a few months into my new career, that I wasn't regaining my ability to sleep soundly as quickly as I wanted to and still felt extreme tiredness during the day. My dream job occasionally found me actually dreaming: struggling to stay awake at trainings, and even more concerning, when I was with my students!

I dreaded days we had to take tests, choosing to pace in the back because sitting down meant fighting sleep. During silent reading, I went back to the 'filled-to-the-brim-drink-technique' I'd mastered when driving in college. My commute was shorter but  more of a challenge than ever, and more than once I found myself running off the road because I'd fallen asleep!

I'd also discovered a new trigger for drowsiness—a full stomach. After lunch, or after eating breakfast was miserable, and I regularly ate only a handful of saltine crackers: enough to stave off hunger without making me tired so that I wouldn't pass out in class. 

My extreme exhaustion was even preventing me from doing things I enjoyed.

Sitting through a movie had been a challenge for a while, and my yoga class quickly took a downhill turn. When I graduated from college, I quit going to the classes they offered, and chose one closer to home. Unlike the 'energizing power yoga' class at my college, this class involved movement, breath, and relaxation.

Basically, It was a dark, cool room, with gentle music playing in the background. I did great in the first 30 minutes of class, where we challenged ourselves to move in and out of new poses to the rhythm from our breath, but the last fifteen minutes of class were spent in "savansanna" or "corpse pose" in which you lay on the floor, close your eyes, and clear your mind. Then, the instructor would come around and gently massages your shoulders with aromatherapy oils.

In short it was a heavenly recipe for a nap.

The first time, dancing in my constant state of physical exhaustion and 'mental clarity' I wasn't sure if I'd truly napped, or just been able to genuinely 'clear my mind.' The second time, I knew I'd slipped in a 'quick nap.' The third time, I was awoken by the instructor in an empty, and now well lit, room. The class had ended 15 minutes earlier, and they needed the space for the incoming karate group. I was embarrassed and, although the instructor was polite, she also let slip that not only had I slept during the last three classes, but I'd been snoring as well.

I was also struggling more at work: often frustrating my teammates incredibly. I discussed things with my team during our planning time, but later on struggled to have any memory of it. This new memory problem was one of the worst, and still a source of insecurity for me. Many PWNs also experience it, but that still doesn't make it better.

There are two main causes I suspect that cause this.

The first is that I am unable to dedicate as much energy to paying attention, and this inability to focus, translates to an inability to remember. In other words, my brain is working so hard to stay awake, it can't work as hard to take in information and convert it to long term memory.

The second cause stems from my vivid dreams. As I said, they are easily confused with memories, so if I have dream about a conversation with someone, I may think I actually had the conversation, and then become frustrated with them when I have a 'memory' they don't. My dreams are commonly about what stresses me out the most: typically work, and I never felt I could truly trust my memories. 

For a while I argued that after three years of sleeplessness from my fast food job it was only logical that it would take longer than a month or so to reverse my habits. But as life got more difficult, with little improvement in my symptoms, this argument became weaker and weaker.

My mom got more insistent as well—demanding that I go see my dad's sleep doctor, and pointing out the strange things I'd been doing for years.

I was now regularly falling asleep on the couch and became hostile when my family tried to wake me and move me to the bed. Later on though, I'd have no memory of the incident, and actually complain that no one woke me up! Life wasn't just a struggle for me anymore; my family was beginning to struggle as well.

During this time period, another new and bizarre symptom presented itself: cataplexy.

Again, I defer to the National Sleep Foundation. "Cataplexy is a sudden loss of muscle tone, usually triggered by emotional stimuli such as laughter, surprise, or anger. It groups and results in slurred speech, buckling of the knees, or weakness in the arms. Consciousness is maintained throughout the episode but the patient is usually unable to speak."

Basically, in its extreme form, it's like passing out, and being paralyzed in a crumpled, powerless state, except you can hear and process everything.

Thankfully, I've never experienced this type of severe, full-body cataplexy. The cataplexy I experience manifests itself in tiny, often unnoticeable ways.

The very first time I experienced an 'episode.' I wasn't even sure of it. While at my house, Eric began teasing me by tickling me. Suddenly, in the middle of hysterical laughter, I crumpled. My mouth felt EXTREMELY thick—like I couldn't talk and my arms felt weak, my head drooping. It happened so quickly, and I wasn't sure why. Was it the tickling that rendered me temporarily helpless? Did he hit some kind of weird nerve?

Not long afterwards, I found that anytime I laughed hard, my knees felt weak. I didn't totally fall, like I had when I was tickled, but I felt that I had to lean on something. Sometimes my head would droop slightly, I'd slur a bit, or my arms would hang limply at my sides.

The feeling always passed quickly and many times I was the only one who'd even noticed.

Initially I didn't think there was any warning that it was coming, but as it occurred more and more, I began to notice a pattern. Just before the weakening, my vision would cloud and my mouth would feel tingly—like my lips had been numbed.

It only lasted a split second before the weakness came, but it gave me enough warning to sit down anything I was holding, or just sit down entirely.

The feeling was typically only experienced during laughter, although a couple of times, when my sister jumped out to scare me, it happened again. The fear rendering me temporarily weak and helpless.

While this was certainly strange and concerning, it didn't appear to be affecting my health in such a way that required an immediate doctors visit. The extreme exhaustion was definitely my biggest concern.

Finally, my mom's persistence, and my own constant exhaustion, wore me down. I was tired of missing family events because I fell asleep in the corner, and my fear of being fired if I accidentally slept in class, or killed from dozing while driving, could no longer be dismissed.

In the spring of 2014, I finally sought help.