My daughter is up in the middle of the night. Why? Begging to watch Sleeping Beauty instead of sleeping.
But I would like to sleep tonight. For once, there is no work keeping me up staring bleary eyed at the computer screen questioning my existence and wondering just what sort of karmically bad thing I had done to deserve this type of abuse, while willing the clock to stop its ticking from 2:59 to 3:00 a.m.
I did, however, wake up yesterday with a massively horrifying leg cramp at 4:00 a.m. One second I’m dreaming shifting in bed, the next second my leg seized up, and I shot straight up in a desperate attempt to bend my foot and ease the cramp.
In the process, I know I made some sort of strangled sound because Jason was about three seconds behind me, asking me what was wrong. The whole disturbance was made even more difficult due to the fact that I have sleep apnea and, therefore, wear a CPAP mask every night that covers my nose. This mask essentially tethers me to the side of the bed, unless I want to knock it off my nightstand, and in the process, spilling water out of the built-in humidifier all over the floor and the bed.
To further confound the issue, there is a stream of air steadily blowing into my nose that renders me mute because, seriously, having a hurricane blow up your nose makes it virtually impossible to utter anything but animal-like, guttural sounds that do nothing but give us a bad rep with the neighbors.
And this whole battle, by the way? It does nothing to help my freaked-out, half-asleep husband nor does it make the kamikaze leg muscle to stop its spasm.
It just wasn’t pretty, folks.
Five seconds more and I’m pretty sure I would have been attempting to gnaw off my leg just above the kneecap for some relief from the burning pain.
I finally managed to tear the mask off my face and beg Jason to bend my foot because at this point I was physically incapable of doing anything but lying there in a heap, howling and thrashing about. Jason attempted to take control of the situation by grabbing my foot that was now in the air and straightening it for me, thereby releasing the cramp.
Now, anyone that has ever had this type of type of leg cramp might know exactly what straightening my foot would do. And instead of the sweet relief that should come, he did the opposite, and the sounds of my pitiful screams, potentially mingled with some serious grown-up words, into the pitch-black room made him realize his folly right away, and he bent my foot and grabbed my leg. But the gods of leg cramps conspired against me, and this trust tactic did not work.
Instead, I leaped out of bed and leaned with my face and body against, my leg and heal pressing down behind me on the floor in an attempt to stretch out the muscle even more.
Finally, mercifully, the muscle gave up the spasm ghost and left me a shaking mess.
I stayed there against the wall, willing myself to move, but I was so gripped by fear that I’d have aftershock-like cramps that I just stayed there. Immobile. Frozen. Leaning. Pressing my cheeks against the cold wall of my bedroom. A little piece of me dying at being awakened with such a ferocious pain.
Jason crept behind me and silently, sleepily, rubbed my calf muscle for me. I attempted to speak, but the words would not come.
Eventually, I tried to turn and walk around the bed, but instead of even making that first step, my foot stayed glued to the floor where I had pressed it so firmly just moments before. Rooted, apparently.
Realization dawned on me that my leg? Well, it had become virtually useless. I willed it to move, but it sat there quaking in the afterglow of the intensity.
I willed myself and my wimpy leg to woman-up.
And then I let myself stand there in fear a few more moments before I managed to attempt to take another step forward. And again, my leg gripped me in another mini-spasm. I pitched forward onto the bed in shock as the wave of painful heat passed through me.
Tired. Distraught. And frankly? Pissed off. So this time, I stood up determined, spasm be damned, and dragged my right leg behind me, throwing on my robe as I slid by. A glance in the bedroom mirror as I shuffled out confirmed the way I felt. Quasimodo on a bad day in a blue robe. Rabid and snarling.
I made it out into the living room, Jason already back asleep in the bedroom. I gingerly sat down on the couch, moving only when necessary, such was my fear of a repeat attack of the leg cramp o’ death. And there I sat for the rest of the night/morning, sleeping in an upright position, willing my calf muscle to simmah down now!
So really, I do need some rest. And the irony that my daughter is crying for Sleeping Beauty? It’s not lost on me.