Crimes in the bedroom
My mattress is trying to kill me. I've suspected it for some time now, but having made the decision to do something about it I must have aroused its suspicions and now it's engaging in all-out war.
I've long suspected my mattress of aging--it is about 10 years old after all--but it was Swancon that revealed to me the truth of the sagging. Not that the hotel mattress was wonderful; quite the opposite in fact. The hotel mattress forced me to sleep across the foot of the bed where there was actual back support and it Felt Good. My suspicions were aroused that perhaps all was not well in my own boudoir.
It's likely that the loss of support in my own mattress was being disguised by the extra layers of foam and sometimes spare doonas I've been lying on to avoid the bruising sensations fibro is so generous with. I've been tinkering with the mix for ages now, and invested in a ridiculously expensive pillow, but the games are all over now: I have ordered a new mattress, and it's due at the end of the week.
In the meantime I seem to have lost the ability to sleep on the old mattress. It seems to know its days are numbered, but after waking up in agony a few days ago--not exactly an unusual occurrance--I decided that I could do it no more. When Husband suffrered from sleeplessness a few nights ago and headed out to the couch and TV I took the opportunity to exclaim "AND STAY OUT!" He was pleased to oblige, having made a standing offer to sleep on the couch any time I ask him to. It's the first time I called him on it, because usually I'm happy to relocate when he snores with the power of a thousand tone-deaf and rhythmically-challenged demons, but this time I needed him out of the way.
To the middle I scooted. The magical paradise in the middle of the mattress where springs remembered their place, where memory foam was not in therapy for 10 years of things it was trying hard to forget. In the middle of the mattress, all was new again. Unfortunately "all" in this case meant a narrow and oddly contoured ridge of support between two hollowed nests on either side. I balanced as best I could on the precipice and felt actual support along my length. Aaaahhhh!
I couldn't do this for a week though, so I've tried sleeping on the floor. The first night I had a sheepskin and spare doona for a mattress. Not bad, but also narrow and oddly shaped. For the last two nights I've slept on the single foam mattress on the floor, and it seems to tick all the boxes in the support and reasonable comfort forms. When I wake up I feel less pain in the hips and knees in particular, and I'm certainly less stiff. So much so that I've graduated from a proppy zombie stagger to a drunken lurch as my favoured method of locomotion. But I'm happy with that, as it was the stiffness that led to most cane use.
So, waking up on the floor: great. Getting up from the floor in the morning: slightly less great. Falling asleep on the floor? Hopeless. Given time I'd probably get used to it, but I don't plan to give it time. In the meantime it just feels all sorts of wrong. Husband is to my left. The ceiling is too far away. The ceiling fan is at the wrong angle. It's not just not my bed; it's not even *a* bed. Trust me, I am intimately familiar with the landscape of my bedroom ceiling and my poor brain is not coping well with the change. I fare better on the floor nest for naps--for some reason my brain is far less concerned about geography when it comes to a quick kip--but as a formal Go To Sleep Now place it's no good at all.
So tonight I shall call upon the magic of chemistry to put me under. This morning's attempt at chemical assistance (rum)at 5am was not really effective, and it frankly made me feel a bit dirty. Drinking before breakfast indeed.
I have great hopes for the new mattress. I know that quality sleep can have a magical effect on my well-being; just imagine the sum effect of sleep removing pain each day, rather than making it worse. It's possible (just possible) that between the new mattress and the once-magical meds I'll see great improvements again.
Dear gods don't let the manufacturer be delayed. Friday, you hear me? No later.
I've long suspected my mattress of aging--it is about 10 years old after all--but it was Swancon that revealed to me the truth of the sagging. Not that the hotel mattress was wonderful; quite the opposite in fact. The hotel mattress forced me to sleep across the foot of the bed where there was actual back support and it Felt Good. My suspicions were aroused that perhaps all was not well in my own boudoir.
It's likely that the loss of support in my own mattress was being disguised by the extra layers of foam and sometimes spare doonas I've been lying on to avoid the bruising sensations fibro is so generous with. I've been tinkering with the mix for ages now, and invested in a ridiculously expensive pillow, but the games are all over now: I have ordered a new mattress, and it's due at the end of the week.
In the meantime I seem to have lost the ability to sleep on the old mattress. It seems to know its days are numbered, but after waking up in agony a few days ago--not exactly an unusual occurrance--I decided that I could do it no more. When Husband suffrered from sleeplessness a few nights ago and headed out to the couch and TV I took the opportunity to exclaim "AND STAY OUT!" He was pleased to oblige, having made a standing offer to sleep on the couch any time I ask him to. It's the first time I called him on it, because usually I'm happy to relocate when he snores with the power of a thousand tone-deaf and rhythmically-challenged demons, but this time I needed him out of the way.
To the middle I scooted. The magical paradise in the middle of the mattress where springs remembered their place, where memory foam was not in therapy for 10 years of things it was trying hard to forget. In the middle of the mattress, all was new again. Unfortunately "all" in this case meant a narrow and oddly contoured ridge of support between two hollowed nests on either side. I balanced as best I could on the precipice and felt actual support along my length. Aaaahhhh!
I couldn't do this for a week though, so I've tried sleeping on the floor. The first night I had a sheepskin and spare doona for a mattress. Not bad, but also narrow and oddly shaped. For the last two nights I've slept on the single foam mattress on the floor, and it seems to tick all the boxes in the support and reasonable comfort forms. When I wake up I feel less pain in the hips and knees in particular, and I'm certainly less stiff. So much so that I've graduated from a proppy zombie stagger to a drunken lurch as my favoured method of locomotion. But I'm happy with that, as it was the stiffness that led to most cane use.
So, waking up on the floor: great. Getting up from the floor in the morning: slightly less great. Falling asleep on the floor? Hopeless. Given time I'd probably get used to it, but I don't plan to give it time. In the meantime it just feels all sorts of wrong. Husband is to my left. The ceiling is too far away. The ceiling fan is at the wrong angle. It's not just not my bed; it's not even *a* bed. Trust me, I am intimately familiar with the landscape of my bedroom ceiling and my poor brain is not coping well with the change. I fare better on the floor nest for naps--for some reason my brain is far less concerned about geography when it comes to a quick kip--but as a formal Go To Sleep Now place it's no good at all.
So tonight I shall call upon the magic of chemistry to put me under. This morning's attempt at chemical assistance (rum)at 5am was not really effective, and it frankly made me feel a bit dirty. Drinking before breakfast indeed.
I have great hopes for the new mattress. I know that quality sleep can have a magical effect on my well-being; just imagine the sum effect of sleep removing pain each day, rather than making it worse. It's possible (just possible) that between the new mattress and the once-magical meds I'll see great improvements again.
Dear gods don't let the manufacturer be delayed. Friday, you hear me? No later.