I'd never had much trouble getting shut-eye. Five seconds after my head hit the pillow, I was out. For years, when Flash and I would put in a DVD to watch, I barely made it through the credits. When I told my Brilliant Doctor about my sleep habits, he explained it usually takes 10 to 15 minutes for a person to fall asleep, rather than mere seconds. Of course, I guess he meant a normal person. Apparently, I was abruptly conking out because my cortisol was abruptly free falling every evening, rather than lowering gradually throughout the day. That darn fight-or-flight hormone was wreaking havoc on both me and my son, Cowboy – it brought everything from too much fat around my middle to his extreme meltdowns.
The first time I had sleep issues in the other direction was after my cortisol was balanced.
"I had trouble sleeping last night. That never happens," I'd told Dr. Brilliant.
"Tell me what happened yesterday," he replied.
I reviewed my day, concluding with, "And I did drink a little Dr. Pepper."
"What time was that?" he politely asked, rather than loudly rolling his eyes.
"About 9 o'clock last night. But caffeine has never kept me awake."
"But that's what caffeine does. Now that your hormones are balanced, your body is reacting to caffeine normally."
Finally, I understood why people drank coffee to perk up in the morning. I'd always been a taste drinker. Now, I seem to be making up for decades of sleeping through the night; it’s taking me years to fully adjust to this Caffeine Revelation. Soon after the Revelation, I seldom indulged in pep-up beverages. Coffee was a treat. A Starbucks Mocha Frappuccino was a rare dessert. Soft drinks were reserved for special occasions or especially hot days at the pool, and any of these drinks were my daily allotment of sugar.
But not now. This summer, more than ever, I’ve craved cold, sweet beverages more that solid sugar - a tremendous statement. Sweet foods are my go-to for sad, happy, angry, creative, bored, and rainy days, and every day that starts with a sunrise.
In light of my newfound drinking problem, and in trying to keep a high-carb count at bay, I recently found a dairy-free, low-carb chocolate milk that rivals all other brands. It comes in a 4-ounce carton, so it's barely a sip. But boy, what a sip it is.
Now, dear reader, if that chocolate milk tastes a little too sweet, I follow it up with some bottled Mocha Frappuccino. Not too much. Just a sip is all I have. But if that Frappuccino leaves me needing a little something fizzy, I take a couple of swallows of Vanilla Orange Coke. One can of soft drink usually lasts me two weeks, so I have just a few sips.
Then, of course, I cut myself off from any more sugar for the day.
But sometimes, in the evening, I remember the stevia-sweetened milk chocolate bars in my nightstand. No sugar – it’s a safe food.
I'll just have four squares, I tell myself, as I lock my bedroom door. Hmmm. That's better than last time. I'll have four more, I add, while chewing away. Life it too short to wait for chocolate to melt in my mouth. Soon, half of the large chocolate bar is gone, and the Mental Carb Math begins; I add my total carb count for the day.
Tomorrow I'll do better, I vow.
But tomorrow comes sooner than expected, as I stare at the ceiling until 4 a.m., wondering why on earth I can’t sleep. I’m not worried about anything. Contrary, I’ve added on that back room to the house we’ve always talked about, planned out Cowboy’s successful career path, picked out all the clothes I’ll buy when I finally lose these extra 13 pounds, grown sunflowers along the backyard fence, wondered what I’ll write about next, mentally reviewed all my favorite Friends episodes, turned the garage into the ultimate party room, and made millions of dollars from my bestselling books. All from a horizontal vantage point. Of course, I’ve moved to the couch. Then to the retro guest room. Then to the workout guest room. Then back to my bedroom. Location, location, location – that’s all you hear from real estate agents, but it doesn’t apply to the insomniac.
Ah, I exclaim in my mind, it must have been the caffeine that did this. After merely sipping the chocolate milk, Mocha Frappuccino, and Vanilla Orange Coke early in the day, I thought I was home free. But I’d forgotten that sugar-free doesn’t equal caffeine-free; that chocolate bar pushed me over the edge.
The prayers begin.
“Dear God. I know I was stupid. I ate and drank all that caffeine today. Please make me sleep, and please let Cowboy sleep late in the morning.”
He grants my request for sleep, yet again, but four hours later, my day begins. I’m not a first-time caffeine offender, so I must pay the consequences of my foolishness. And, of course, “Thou shalt not test the Lord thy God” applies.
When Cowboy walks into my room to wake me, I beg for a little more sleep. He grants me another hour, as he lies back down and waits.
On my second waking, this time from a hungry Cowboy, I grope my way to the kitchen, thinking about that unfinished Frappuccino. Now that I'm a caffeine drinker rather than a taste drinker, I know it can help me through the day. I have a couple of sips. Followed by what’s left of the chocolate milk. With a Coke chaser. That evening, I'm dragging myself through life. I’m so sleepy, nothing on God’s green earth could possible keep me up all night again.
According to Albert Einstein, the definition of insanity is “Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.” I am, therefore, insane, as this scenario repeated itself for five out of seven days last week.
But one night, I added a twist. At 10 p.m., Flash and I sat down to watch a Hallmark mystery. I had no beverage beside me, so all was well. Again, I was exhausted from the caffeine-filled wee hours of the morning, so I knew I’d sleep that night. The new container of low-carb, stevia-sweetened, coffee-flavored ice cream was in the freezer in the garage. I keep it out there, so I won't hear it screaming my name every moment of every day.
But that night, its muffled cries for attention traveled to my sleep-deprived ears, and I caved.
“What are you doing?” Flash asked. “You’re eating that this late?”
Mind your own business, I glared, as I continued feeding my greatest desire – the taste of cold caffeine on my lips.
The movie ended. Flash stumbled to bed. And my half-finished ice cream and I were left alone, as I stared into space for the next hour and a half.
And so it went. The same ritual every day, the same results every night. I could barely walk by day six. I couldn’t function. I couldn’t speak without slurring. And my mocha-colored living room walls were taunting me.
“I’m going to bed,” I declared at 7 p.m. that night. I ran to my room before I could hear the Tempter from the freezer, hid under the covers, and slept all night.
The next day, I was almost human. I went to bed at 8:30 p.m.
By the next morning, I could remember Flash’s name, and no longer wanted to cry every time I walked by that garage freezer. And I was starting to like people again.
I was doing fine without bingeing, and caught up on my sleep. After going to bed at a reasonable hour that night, my phone rang at 3:13 a.m.
“Hello?” I asked.
“Hello?’ the woman from another time dimension answered back.
“Hello?” I repeated myself.
“Hello?” she said.
Getting nowhere fast, I hung up.
And then, I started mentally rebuilding the shed in the backyard. I was ticked off. To be awake without even indulging in my caffeine treats was a cruel trick. I started to call back the unknown caller, but I was sure what she lacked in conversations skills would not be surpassed by her personality.
Finally, I drifted off to sleep.
But the next morning, I was groggy. I stayed strong, and overcame the tugging at my taste buds by everything caffeinated in my life. I made it through the entire day, making sure to order decaf coffee when I took Cowboy to IHOP for breakfast. It was the best cup of hot coffee I’d had in weeks, so I ordered more of the “half-decaf, half hot water” drink to take home with me in a tall cup.
That evening, around 6 p.m., I started shaking. And I was starving. And my mind was racing. I knew I’d been caffeinated by default by that sweet, well-meaning IHOP server. It was another 4 a.m. bedtime. And, of course, it never occurred to me on yet another fitful night, how much writing I could’ve done. I’m taking my laptop to bed with me from now on.
This week, as I pondered my insanity, I felt I wasn’t alone in my plight. Where had I heard this kind of cycle before? Perhaps in the Bible, when those silly Israelites kept repeating history? Perhaps in some classic heart-wrenching novel? Perhaps in Adult Children of Alcoholics meetings I led in the 80s? Surely, it was reminiscent of all of them.
But there was something more pleasantly familiar. Something I’d read repeatedly, for years. Yesterday, as I walked past Cowboy’s bedroom, I realized what it was.
If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, by Laura Numeroff. Of course. Cowboy and I read that book all the time; it’s still one of my favorite children’s stories.
I am the mouse. And caffeine is my cookie. I am not a monster, driven by a lack of self-control. I am a cute, lovable creature, who knows what she wants and how to get it. I’m in control of my own life.
I relaxed as I sat down to work on my blog post for today. I felt good about myself again. While writing, I needed to check my spelling of Frappuccino, so I grabbed one of the Starbucks bottles hidden in the guest room closet. It was easier than googling. I placed the bottle on the desk in front of me.
Then I wondered how it would taste at room temperature.
I took a sip. Just a sip. Then I placed the half empty bottle back in front of me. Two more sips won’t hurt, I told myself.
Suddenly, my caffeinated creative juices were flowing. The story was coming together. That tight deadline wasn’t looming as large, and I knew all was well with the world. But I needed something colder to quench my thirst. I was out of the chocolate milk. But I knew, even though I’d eaten an entire pint of coffee ice cream the night before, there was more in the freezer.
I’d treat myself to a couple of bites after wrapping up my blog post. After all, I’d only had a few sips of Frappuccino earlier. And half a Hershey bar. And a tad bit of Coke.
What could go wrong?