I can’t sleep can’t sleep, so I write. I can’t sleep so I let my mind wander about.
But what I don’t do is housework when I can’t sleep ... an irrelevant fact for my purposes now, however.
This insomnia is related to this anti-depressant regimen I began three months ago. Someone at a very high pay grade thought there was a clear solution to address my common side effect: a sedative that bestowed a less than desirable fifteen-hour sleep cycle.
Oh, I would be remiss if I didn’t add that another magic potion battled the goonish nightmares that terrorized me for those hours of drug-induced sleep.
So I chose to suffer from insomnia than loose so many potentially productive daylight hours.
It seemed like a reasonable approach until I contracted COVID-19. It is well-documented that sleep deprivation suppresses the immune system, but as I was adjusting to my new life of mystery- medications, I forgot about my immune system. I had been busy thinking about why these symptoms of depression and post-traumatic stress disorder were chasing me around after I had lived so much of life already. Maybe it simply was that I had indeed lived so much of life.
Upon testing positive for COVID-19, I immediately reconstructed my whereabouts over the prior two weeks. It was simply given my somewhat reclusive lifestyle and infrequent grocery runs. Ultimately, I came to understand that the coronavirus is simply everywhere-resting quietly on random surfaces, on my hands and face, possibly floating passed my head. The virus may have just walked right in on my jacket. Hiding in my home with the drapes drawn was a bit too simplistic an approach.
As such, my immune system was really my most important line of defense. By the time I pulled the pieces together, it was too late. I was coughing, and managing severe head and neck pain with even more pills. My palate processed everything as high-quality cardboard and productivity was no real concern. COVID-19 encouraged a nice restful sleep most of the day so it could replicate in my organs just that much faster. No insomnia worries for me at this stage of my infection.
But God had sent me a clear message on the next phase of my purpose and I needed to be alive to live in that purpose.
I fought that virus as viciously as it attacked me. I made potions of all sorts as I explored home remedies that sounded reasonably helpful. Other options may have been merely expensive snake oil, but otherwise harmless to my body. Given that I was at a stand-off with a novel virus, my treatment approach needed to be novel as well, I reasoned.
After an abundance of prayers on my behalf, a month of aggressive efforts, my infection has now passed. I have yet another testimony of God’s mercy.
So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. (New International Version, Isaiah 41:10)
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