Installment Forty-Five

Will I ever sleep again?

More endless nights of tossing and turning, as the question for me has now become: do I try to get in touch with Gabe since I know he's alive and well and living in Ireland under a different name?

I'm such an emotional wreck my night sweats have come back with a vengeance. I want a refund on my meds. I'm going to die of insomnia long before all the ominous side-effects of HRT can kill me.

Of course, death by estrogen depends entirely on the day of the week and whichever new study the media heralds about HRT to scare the shit out of women taking it.

Life causes death for Christ’s sake.

Clearly I need some sleep. There's a good reason sleep deprivation is used as a means of torture.

I thought about asking Dr. Larry for advice during our session today but unfortunately, he's not as forthcoming (or remotely as good-looking for that matter) as my favourite television shrink Gabriel Byrne on In Treatment. He always offers solutions in that lovely Irish accent of his. Maybe I do have something for Irish men.

And I'm sure, if my own good head doctor watches the program, he would be saying I'm also no substitute for Debra Winger's character on the show, who was spilling her guts about the joys of menopause, divorce and death this past season.

"What do you think you should do about this new development, Joelly?" he asked, after torturing me--yet again--to assign a number to my mood.

"That’s what I'm paying you to tell me."

Oh wait, the Canadian taxpayer is paying him.

"Have you asked your daughter and her fiancée? It would seem to me that whatever decision you take on this matter has repercussions for them."

Bloody hell, of course I hadn’t thought of that. I was still trapped in ‘Joelly World’ despite my best efforts to break out of my navel-gazing bubble.

"No, I haven't. But I'm so glad you raised that point so I can have another sleepless night debating it in my head."

"I’m going to forgive your sarcasm, Joelly because I know you aren't sleeping well. And I am going to go one step further and write you a prescription for a mild sleeping pill."

"I don't want any more pills! I'm already a walking menopausal woman joke with a purse that rattles with the sound of too many bottles of pills."

"All right then. But you do recognize that you won't sleep well until you come to a decision about contacting him."

"I know that!!!" I was shouting and on the verge of a meltdown again. "Look, I apologize again for this crazy behavior of mine."

"Here," he said, handing me a prescription. "I’m only giving you ten so it's just for the short term. You need some rest. Remember, you have a wedding to plan now."

"Thanks for reminding me. No pill is going to work now."

"You could try taking up meditation, yoga, or maybe even tai chi?"

Or you could just club me over the head. Please.