Posted on Mar 28, 2010 in Blog |

On school day mornings, if I had snoozed too long, Mom would gently open my door, come to the side of my twin size bed and gently rub my shoulder. “Time to rise and shine,” her lilting voice offered.  She walked to the corner windows and raised the shades without letting them slap at the top. “Up and at ‘em, Atom Ant!” she would tease, drawing open the cheery lime green and yellow patchwork curtains she had sewn. She didn’t burst into the room and demand me awake, but rather coached me into accepting the day’s beginning. On weekends, I slept as long as my body required; mom was a believer that children needed and benefited from the deep slumber.  I never heard a booming voice, never felt the covers pulled away, never wrestled roughly from my sleep. In college, it was hard to get out of bed after a night of excessive drinking.  My head throbbed in rhythm with my heartbeat.  A parched throat and a full bladder forced me from the sheets but the churning walls and pounding noise punished me with each step. In my late 20s, difficulty getting out of bed meant feeling sleepy, rolling over and snuggling my nose deeper into the pillow, hoping to block out the light, and silence the dogs’ snoring.  My thoughts were dreamy-like, slowly sauntering towards wakefulness.  Getting out of bed was still a choice; an option. Motherhood – exhaustion was a constant state; choice not available.  The baby’s cries and a visceral response force the muscles to contract and move, raising me from warm cocoon and on the job in seconds. By middle age, my wake up time wasn’t as rigid, but rising and turning slowed.  Pain drilled through my heels in their first steps.  My back didn’t quite straighten to 180 degrees.  But moving forward remained instinctual. I am still middle-aged, but Lyme disease has attacked and infiltrated to my core.  My brain awakens before my eyes open.  Pain registers before wakefulness.  I am usually on my back.  The stiffened neck muscles force me to turn slowly to the right, squinting my eyes at the alarm clock...

Read More