Cold Sleep
Dec. 29th, 2003 09:11 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lydyI wish that real doctors were like the doctors in books or even some of the ones on television. The fictional doctor considers information about the patient holistically. Past diseases, unexplained events, current symptoms, and voila! an obscure diagnosis which sets everything to rights. Cue heroic music.
In fact, doctors aren't like that at all. They look for what they're looking for. If they do review your chart, they do it while in the room with you, often in between a bit of chit chat, or asking the standard questions to which you give the standard answers, and neither one of you appears to be paying attention.
I'm not a doctor, don't play one on television, have no medical training or aspirations of any sort, so what do I know? However, it still seems to me that they simply ignore relevant information because it's not what they're looking for. The one that's bothering me just at the moment is the fact that immediately before a "nap attack," I get a chill. I am very cold, although not shivering or chattering. My hands become colder than usual. Sometimes, adding a jacket or sweater seems to help, but not always. I start to fall asleep, unwillingly. I'll pull blankets over me, if I'm on my bed, ignoring basic issues like my laptop being precariously perched on the edge of the bed. At work, I'll curl up tightly on the couch in the lounge, trying to conserve heat that way. Eventually, I'll wake up. If I feel warm, I usually feel wakeful. If I'm still cold, I tend to go back to sleep.
Most sleep specialists are cardio-pulmonary doctors. They don't seem to see that the chill is relevant. I did see a neurologist, last time. Dr. Muhulwold, a world-famous sleep specialist. I believe that he's working with binge-eating while sleeping. (While I was at the Hennepin County Sleep Center, I met a young woman who was being tested and observed for that disorder. I can see why it would be a fascinating field of study.) When I asked him about the chills, he said, "They probably mean something, but we don't know what." Then he went on to say that what I needed was nine hours of sleep a night, agreed that there wasn't any way I was going to get that on a regular basis, and suggested a lot of coffee.
Now, personally, it seems that all this is probably related to the fact that I have never had a properly functioning internal thermostat. In the winter, if I am out long enough that my thighs are ice cold when I get in, I'll be miserably cold for hours. The only known remedy is a hot bath. I become cold easily, and warm up slowly. Additional layers of clothes help a lot less than they should, once I'm already cold. My shrink has checked my thyroid, several times, but it seems to be in good order. So what's happening is a mystery, and nobody but me seems to care. Me, it's winter again, and I bloody well care. January is just around the corner, and the weather is likely to turn brutal then.
This is the latest biochemical grouch, brought to you by Oscar, Inc.
In fact, doctors aren't like that at all. They look for what they're looking for. If they do review your chart, they do it while in the room with you, often in between a bit of chit chat, or asking the standard questions to which you give the standard answers, and neither one of you appears to be paying attention.
I'm not a doctor, don't play one on television, have no medical training or aspirations of any sort, so what do I know? However, it still seems to me that they simply ignore relevant information because it's not what they're looking for. The one that's bothering me just at the moment is the fact that immediately before a "nap attack," I get a chill. I am very cold, although not shivering or chattering. My hands become colder than usual. Sometimes, adding a jacket or sweater seems to help, but not always. I start to fall asleep, unwillingly. I'll pull blankets over me, if I'm on my bed, ignoring basic issues like my laptop being precariously perched on the edge of the bed. At work, I'll curl up tightly on the couch in the lounge, trying to conserve heat that way. Eventually, I'll wake up. If I feel warm, I usually feel wakeful. If I'm still cold, I tend to go back to sleep.
Most sleep specialists are cardio-pulmonary doctors. They don't seem to see that the chill is relevant. I did see a neurologist, last time. Dr. Muhulwold, a world-famous sleep specialist. I believe that he's working with binge-eating while sleeping. (While I was at the Hennepin County Sleep Center, I met a young woman who was being tested and observed for that disorder. I can see why it would be a fascinating field of study.) When I asked him about the chills, he said, "They probably mean something, but we don't know what." Then he went on to say that what I needed was nine hours of sleep a night, agreed that there wasn't any way I was going to get that on a regular basis, and suggested a lot of coffee.
Now, personally, it seems that all this is probably related to the fact that I have never had a properly functioning internal thermostat. In the winter, if I am out long enough that my thighs are ice cold when I get in, I'll be miserably cold for hours. The only known remedy is a hot bath. I become cold easily, and warm up slowly. Additional layers of clothes help a lot less than they should, once I'm already cold. My shrink has checked my thyroid, several times, but it seems to be in good order. So what's happening is a mystery, and nobody but me seems to care. Me, it's winter again, and I bloody well care. January is just around the corner, and the weather is likely to turn brutal then.
This is the latest biochemical grouch, brought to you by Oscar, Inc.
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no subject
Date: 2003-12-29 10:41 am (UTC)See my immediately previous post for a rant on the topic. The short form is: there isn't enough time in the day. When I get home from work, I have 3.5 hours in which to eat dinner, and accomplish anything else that I might want to accomplish, including housework, socializing, reading, email, etc. I don't get to bed at 9:30, like I need to, but more like 11:00, which leaves me in a constant state of muzziness. I hate it.