VSD

I almost killed myself again this morning.

It’s a repeated offense—I fall asleep in cars. Simple as that. I don’t know if it’s classical conditioning, sleep deprivation, or both—but put me in a car going anywhere and within minutes I am like a two-year old in a carseat, eyes heavier than anvils, nodding off like a bobble-head. It’s embarrasing, really. Though, most of the time, there is no one to be embarrased in front of. There are, on the other hand, plenty of people I could potentially crush with my car and seriously injure (including myself) if I don’t nip this one in the bud. Trust me, I am well aware of the danger.

Most of the time when I fall asleep it’s just for a split-second. But there have also been those events I like to refer to as “the scary sleep scoldings”—little moments of God’s discipline intervening in the world of my vehicular sleep disorder. (Let’s just refer to it as that from now on, actually,VSD).

There was the time I was cruisin’ along at sixteen in my red jeep with zebra print seat covers (this was during the “early stages” of my VSD), and within moments of heading northbound on I-5 I was out like a light, driving the left side of my jeep into the guard rail. I remember sitting on the curbside just outside a Denny’s, crying so hard I was snorting, staring at the giant dent in the side of my jeep. “I’m so-o-o-o sorryyyy God!” I wailed, my face wet with snot and tears. An elderly lady with a plastic sack over her head (protecting her perm from rain damage, maybe?) was exiting Denny’s with her husband and heard my yelping. She and her husband just stood there staring at me like I was some caged animal at the zoo. No words of comfort, just staring. Eventually the lady with the rain bonnet reached her hand out slowly and offered me her Denny’s left overs. “Thanks,” I choked out between tears. It was kind of a strange gesture, I thought, and a little gross—but I took the box and smiled.

Another time, the VSD hit so hard I managed to doze off and wake up to the sound of the blaring horn of a truck headed straight for me (as I had trailed into the other lane). “Whoa Momma!” I screamed (although, I probably didn’t say “Whoa Momma!”) and I veered as far left as possible, driving myself off the road and into a grass field. Praise Jesus it was a tree-less spot. I just sat there (this time I was in our family’s white minivan) staring dead ahead. “I will never fall asleep in the car again”, I promised myself.

I did. Several times. The worst of them probably being the time I tried to drive home to Gig Harbor from Bellingham for my sister’s graduation. It was 2 am and I was so close to my house I could almost smell it. I had been fighting the VSD off all night by rolling the windows down and listening to hard-core rap music (the anti-sleep agent). Every once and awhile I would put on a musical soundtrack and sing along at the top of my lungs while slapping myself in the face till my cheeks were red and raw. If that didn’t work, I would hold my breath and think about really ugly/scary things like sloths or open wounds so that if I did fall asleep I would have a quick nightmare that would wake me right back up. I had been on the road for 2 hours, but it felt like I had been driving for three weeks. Suddenly, the Tacoma Narrows Bridge was in sight and I smiled as it was the “almost home” marker. My eyelids blinking heavily, I was shocked to see an elephant stanging square in the middle of the Narrows Bridge. “How weiiird,” I thought as I stopped for the elephant (I didn’t have much of a choice; he was blocking both lanes). I just sat there until several horns began honking. Something about the familiar sound of honking horns jerked me back into alertness and, embarrassed as anything, I realized there was NO elephant and started driving again. Was I going crazy?!

The next day, our entire family was gathered around the table at a local restaurant celebrating Lindsay’s graduation.

“You will never believe what happened to me last night,” I said to my uncle Gerry. “I was so tired when I was driving home, I actually thought I saw an elephant on the Tacoma Narrows Bridge” I said between laughter. He didn’t even crack a smile. He just stared at me with piercing dissappointment. My uncle Gerry is a physician (the wrong person to tell).

“Abbie,” he said in a Dr. Phil-ish tone, “it sounds like you had a hypnagogic hallucination. If you are that tired, you can actually start hallucinating—it’s like dreaming with your eyes open.”

“Oh snapdragons,” I thought (or maybe I said it outloud-though that too would have been embarrassing). “Hallucinations, huh? I thought you only got those when you were dehydrated in the desert or trippin on LSD.” My uncle highly encouraged me to get a sleep test. As he was counseling me, my dad chirped in.

“Abbie, that is soooo strange,” he said in a perplexed tone, “I remember when I was about your age and driving home from Malibu, I saw an elephant on the road, too!”

“Oh shoot, it’s a family deal,” I replied. It appeared my dad and I were fellow bondservants of VSD.

I never did get the sleep test, but my dad did. He had a whole number of sleep issues—from mild narcolepsy to restless leg syndrome ( a sleep disorder that, frankly, just makes me laugh out loud).

This morning on the way to work, VSD struck hard again, and I woke up as I hit the rumble strip. I was passing a carwash on Barbur Boulevard that weekly changes the saying on a billboard they have just outside their business. This week it was a Zig Ziglar quote that read:

“Will you look back on life and say, ‘I wish I had,’ or ‘I’m glad I did’?”

Prophetic. I think I’ll go get that sleep test.