What I didn't bargain for was getting a healthy dose of perspective served with a dollop of insight into my relationship with booze.
I went to bed early on Friday night, woke up early on Saturday morning, and spent much of the early part of the day pottering around not knowing what to do with myself (I settled on a really long run. And a swim. And a couple of walks). A few barbecued snags with my flatmate and his fancy piece followed, and then I conked out for the required Pre Nightshift Nap (read: raping your circadian rhythm so as to stay awake all night).
Being an old pro, after a meagre three hour nap I woke up and, knowing better, got straight out of bed instead of trying to fall back asleep and stressing myself tired. I was priming myself for the shift ahead- I didn't want to talk to anyone or think about anything- other than to focus on getting my energy up. I went to the office a bit early. My favourite HR Consultant was supposed to be joining me as well and I was looking forward to it. She chickened out though after not getting enough sleep, and I'll be reminding her of this next time she becomes irate with nigthshift absenteeism.
I settled in- the first few hours were ok. By 4am it was awful. I don't know how I did it for so many years. Actually I do- Alcohol. I made it through the night ok (thanks to 11 trips to the Nespresso Machine, and almost as many cigarettes) and then that feeling. That dysphoric Dawn buzz that I had buried in the darkest pits of my memory. The sun slowly creeping up, throwing your brain into a frenzy and giving you a feeling I can only describe as vertigo, mild disassociation and depressing emptiness rolled into one- the cigarette balcony is a very dangerous place to be at that time and whatever you do- don't look down as that makes it worse.
Standard medical advice is this: avoid light at all costs. Finish your shift, put on a pair of dark sunglasses, avoid direct sunlight, get home to a cool (17 degrees is optimal for sleeping) blacked out room. Have a glass of water. Try to sleep. Fail miserably.
Here's why. We're dirunal animals and millions of years of evolution has hardwired a certain rhythm into our brains. We are not meant to stay awake all night. On an aside, being up before five am is just as rough on your body as staying awake all night, but I digress. Some people can cope with it better than others and some people actually do quite well with it- I'm not one of those people- alcohol coped for me.
In a nutshell, throughout the course of the night your brain is busy pumping itself full of melatonin and other sleep related goodies- your body temperature drops slightly and your metabolism slows to facilitate sleep. Artifical light throws this off slightly, but not completely (the result is that you just feel permanently quesy and off-kilter- you get used to it. Eating a copper rich diet helps with this slightly but say goodbye to your waistline because the best source of copper going is dark chocolate). You drink too much coffee- bringing yourself to the brink of caffeine psychosis. You drink water to keep hydrated out of necessity, and generally tend to crave carbohydrate rich foods (which actually make you more tired, not to mention fat). But you cope- just.
Then the sun comes up and your brain scrambles to life, not entirely sure what to do with itself. An adrenaline rush and slight dopamine surge follows the sunrise triggering a moderate fight or flight response- your stomach knots up, you get jittery. Lightheaded. A feeling of detached numbness follows. The circulation in your fingers starts to go, slightly. Look away from the sun- put on sunglasses. Walk in the shade. Get home and blackout your bedroom in the hope that not too much damage has been done and that you'll still be able to sleep- but I guarantee you, you won't.
Unless you get drunk. The difference between going to the Tea Gardens from 7am until noon and getting wasted, then going to bed, as opposed to just going straight home to bed? 8-9 hours of sleep (pub) as opposed to 3-4 hours (sobriety). Alcohol and Breakfast Clubs, in addition to being the source of many very fond (albeit blurry) memories, were a necessary coping mechanism. We weren't on rotating shifts- it was all nightshift, all the time. Too tired to socialise with outsiders on weekends, Friday mornings became the highpoint of our social week. I got fat. The thought of a normal balanced life seemed impossible because it was- I woke up, went straight to work, then got pissed, then went straight to bed. It was the only thing that worked for me.
Until a year ago anyway, when I managed to make myself severely ill (resulting in almost a month in bed thanks to a relapse of mononucleoisis- as a result of being so run down), after a slew of blood tests and after drawing numerous blanks the only likely conclusion they could draw in addition to the mono, was borderline ME (Chronic Fatigue syndrome). Which basically means they didn't know why the hell I got so sick so let's tick that 'miscellaneous' box. Unfortunately I was also told that I could do nightshifts for another few months, but that I was on the verge of doing irreperable harm to myself both physically and mentally- if I hadn't already crossed that threshold. And that getting wasted in the morning was probably still better than getting myself hooked on prescription tranquilisers (little did the Doc know I always kept a reserve supply of those too for really hot, sunny days when I desperately needed sleep and booze just didn't cut it).
In the end, I did nights for another 6 months, then after a 5 week holiday, I moved to my current day job. I now look four years younger, my energy is back, I'm down to my prenightshift weight (11 kgs gone) and my life is very balanced and rather contented. Christ I'm actually happy. Who knew.
But this morning, wow. I got home. Had a cup of tea on the balcony, hiding in the one remaining shady corner. I was irritable. Panicky. It was too god damn bright. I was angry at everything knowing that I would be robbed of a decent sleep. I couldn't think straight. I was feeling desperate. Part of me wanted to cry for the sake of it. I have a busy week ahead of me- I can't afford shift lag. I needed a drink- a few beers would sort this out. Christ this is why I started drinking so heavily.
So I blew the dust off of my nightshift emergency sleep jar, grabbed a Seroquil, and knocked myself out. I only slept for 6 hours before the sun woke me (and that is very, very strong stuff. Think of it as a turbo charged valium- a quarter of a tablet will gaurantee an 11 hour sleep overnight regardless of what time you set your alarm for) and woke up feeling spacey, as though I had wasted the day. But atleast I wasn't hungover.
And I'll sleep well tonight.
And I won't need alcohol to do it.
Eureka.
loves ittttt
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