Sleep Deprivation

I am sleep-deprived. This may come out funny.

My MRI and EEG are this morning. The MRI is routine by now, but I have never had an EEG before. I am supposed to make one of my brain shocks happen during the EEG, but the brain shocks are random. Try fasting for two days and then hope for an accidental burp. Most likely it won't happen.

Maybe this is what an adult actor feels like going into a first audition. "Sorry," he says. "This doesn't usually happen." "It's okay, it happens to everyone from time to time," someone says off-camera. "I just feel too much pressure," he says again.

I am sleep deprived. Have I said that?

A call came in yesterday from the EEG people. "ONE: no caffeine or chocolate twelve hours prior. TWO: be sleep-deprived, and THREE: don't have a lot of products in your hair." I have the third one covered no problem. I can't remember the first two because I am sleep-deprived, but I see the kitchen cabinets are covered in sticky notes ("No!" in my own handwriting) and the coffee machine is wrapped in duct tape.

My Epilepsy friend gave me simpler advice: "Just drink more than usual the night before the EEG." This presented a challenge. Nigel Tufnel, the guitarist for the band Spinal Tap tries to solve the same dilemma when pondering the cover of the group's new "Black Album." He asks, "It's like, how much more black could this be? And the answer is none. None more black."

I jest of course. I am sleep-deprived. Have I mentioned that?

Last night during my two hours of sleep I had a dream. I was driving through the desert with a kitten in my lap. The kitten was lost and I had to find the owner somewhere in the desert. Police cars wailed and I stopped my car. I looked in the rearview mirror and saw Benicio del Toro approaching. He had really nice-fitting jeans.

I rolled down the window and he spoke slowly: "Nooooooo. You may not be driving ('dry-wing') con eso gato de Tijuanaaaaa . . ."

I was intimidated. Benicio del Toro exudes a manliness I cannot match even when I shower.

Finally a friend showed up and told me, "No, Ale! Have paw prints taken! All cats have their paw prints recorded when they are born. Match the prints to the owner and you can deliver the kitten home!"

I don't know what any of this means. I am sleep-deprived. (Did I mention that?)

And, yes, I do have someone driving me today.

Shockras

In a week I will have my next appointment in the neuroscience wing. In the meantime (this is a vacation week with the orchestra) we are keeping the stress level down by catching up on episodes of the TV show “24”. We just saw one where Jack Bauer (the protagonist) hung from the ceiling with bound wrists while the Russian mafia attached live jumper cables to his wounds.

“There,” I said to MJ. “That’s what it feels like, only on my brain.”

Noah noticed my voice and tipped his head to see if I had a treat. I didn’t, so he slumped back, groaned and watched the screen as Jack Bauer took more juice.

I was exaggerating, but only a bit. The new medication (Trileptal) doesn’t help (at least at the current dosage), but I am supposed to continue it until the next appointment. I don't know yet whether this is some form of epilepsy, but I have recently read that over 5% of craniopharyngioma patients (in one study) are later diagnosed with epilepsy. This is much higher than the national average.


I still experience the brain shocks—I now call them "shockras"—but I try to avoid situations where they occur. This means I never rest during the day, not even for a moment. And by “rest” I mean the moment I relax my thoughts, stopping to consider something beautiful, stopping to “smell the roses” if you will, stopping to think how something reminds me of the time when … KZZAAAAAPPP!

Like that.

As a result, I am sleep-deprived, probably more susceptible to interrogation than if I were drugged with Sodium Pentothal. I would reveal everything. Bank account numbers. Phone numbers. Safe combinations. The location of the rebel base. I’ll talk, but just STOP THE SHOCKS!

Again, I exaggerate, but only a bit. I do not suffer 24 hours a day. I suffer for one second, anywhere from three to fifteen times a day. And then I’m not suffering.

Imagine someone holding a sharp object over your hand. There is no pain yet, but you know at some point during the day that person will stab you with the sharp object quickly. Then—just as quickly—the pain will disappear.

So what do you do in this predicament? Yes, you see the right doctors and try different medications. But, besides that, what do you do? You go about your day.

Wake up. Nothing.
MJ makes breakfast. Mmm, good coffee. Good eggs. Good toast. Nothing.
Go for a walk outside. Cool spring air. Beautiful. Nothing.
Compose a little, write a little, check your email. Nothing.
Lunch? Sounds good. Good soup, mmm. Nothing.
Phone call. Nothing.
Errand. Nothing.
Dog walk. Nothing.
Fold laundry. Nothing.
Book. AAARRRRRRRGH.
Recover.
Book. Nothing.

Like that.

I can’t wait to see what the EEG will show. If it records one of these shocks it might break the machine.