In October 2017, there was (as always) a great deal of chaos in my life.
We were hosting the most obnoxious, narcissistic, demanding exchange student on the planet which was triggering a lot of stuff for me in a long history of dealing with obnoxious, demanding narcissists. I had just moved into a new townhouse, and had decided to give up fostering children as I was finding this too emotionally difficult. I was battling constant exhaustion, which I was assured was related to my recent diagnosis of sleep apnea. Combine this with nearly 150 extra pounds I was carrying and the additional diagnosis of fibromyalgia about 10 years earlier. I was a walking disaster.
Nights were filled with constant pain, flipping from side to back, to the other side, back to my back. I was only comfortable for about 15 mins, then the position would become too painful to stay put. The sleep study revealed I never actually hit REM sleep. I switched to a new fibromyalgia doctor, and he put me on a glorious new medicine: Lyrica. For six weeks I had the most amazing sleep I’d had in years. The constant pain was tolerable enough to stay in 2-3 positions all night. I was in heaven. Mostly. And then it all started to go a bit wrong.