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“And now?”
“Almost every night.”
“Almost?” His brow raises, and I know what’s coming next. “Have you been staying awake for days? The truth, please.”
“The last three weeks, I’ve been having trouble falling asleep.”
“Elaborate, please.”
Running a tired hand down my face, I let out a harsh breath. “Sometimes, the meds don’t work. Sometimes the Melatonin doesn’t so much as make me yawn.” He goes to open his mouth, but I hold up a hand. “And then there are those nights when I try them together and fall asleep only to wake up with my heart beating out of my chest two hours after crashing.”
“Why didn’t you call the office? We need to know these things.” His lips purse, and he begins to type something on his laptop, his lips moving but I can’t make out what he’s mouthing. “I’m going to send in a new script for a different medication to your pharmacy on file, and you’ll be discontinuing the other. This one’s just for sleeping and should keep you there throughout the night. You’ll also be leaving here with one for bloodwork.”
I grumble. “Hate needles.”
“And I hate the smell of lavender, but my wife insists we use it in every room of our home.” At that, I laugh and he chuckles a bit, yet his amusement dies just as fast as it came. “And your stress levels? How are you managing? Are you working out or walking—”
“What are the possible side effects?” Cutting him off is rude, but I’d rather he answer my question instead. This one matters. “Because the last one always made me sick the next day.”
“That’s something that varies from medication to medication. We won’t know until you try it, but please call my office right away if you experience any sudden headaches or bleeding from your nose and mouth.”
“Jesus,” I mutter under my breath but he heard, his sad nod telling me as much. “What about the possibility of these being night terrors? Don’t you have some form of testing that can be done to rule it out?”
“I’d rather you start the new medication and see how it goes. If no change, we will move on to the next step.”
“Next step?”
“Another medication, and if that doesn’t work, we’ll do an MRI scan to rule out a physical cause. If neither is found to lead us anywhere, then we will begin a series of tests—polysomnography—to determine if you are indeed suffering from night terrors.”
“How long before we can reach that stage?”
“I’d like to see you in a month again. That is, unless you’re having a problem with this new prescription.”
“Thirty days?” My laugh is sardonic, my chest tightening and I rub the area. I’m sure he can sense the ire beginning to mount within. “Are you kidding me?”
“I’m sorry if that’s not the answer you were looking for, but there’s a procedure to each treatment that must be followed.” Dr. Silva takes his glasses off and places them atop his desk along with his pen. Both are atop that stupid notebook I want to smack him with and then burn. “Please trust us, Gabriella. Trust me that I will do what’s best for you and your mental and physical health.”
“Sure.” Because what else can I say? He won’t listen.
My primary didn’t either.
They think it’s stress-related. That it’s manifesting in vivid dreams.
“Great.” He stands and so do I, following him to the door that he holds open for me. “I’ll see you in a month, and I think you’ll have good news for me. And please remember: keep the stress levels down and always take your meds.”
12
Gabriella
“Black. I’m going to need a lot of black,” I whisper to myself, standing in the middle of the acrylic paint section of a specialty art store while debating brands four days later. After my walk around the block with Mr. Pickles today, I’ve felt energized yet restless. I’m also running on nothing but coffee, determination, and the hour-and-a-half power nap I allow myself once a day.
No sleeping at night. No meds; the new or old ones.
Not a damn thing. This is the euphoric stage right before I crash, but I’m willing to take the risk. After getting home that day, I looked up the side effects to my new “night time” supplement and it’s much the same as the last, but with the added possibility of oral bleeding and headaches from hell. It’s in rare cases, I understand that, but I’m just not in the mood to add to my already heavy plate of bullshit.
So instead, I’m evading while sticking to the primary objective for my pieces. Because there’s this uncontrollable beckoning that’s leaning toward a dark and depraved setting where few have truly ventured into: the jungle. Be it the Amazon or Sri Lanka or any other large rainforest, there are legends of tribes and animals who live on these sacred grounds where money means nothing and you hunt to survive. It’s a delicate balance, perfected since the beginning of existence, and I’m giving in to this temptation.
More so after recalling my conversation with Tero about snakes.
