There is a myth that older people need less sleep...As we get older, it gets more difficult to get a good night's sleep. That doesn't mean we don't still need seven to nine hours.
----"How Sleep Changes With Aging," Mark Stibich, Ph.D. (verywellhealth.com)
The night is deep and quiet. Far, far away, over on his side of the new king-sized bed, Mark's C-Pap whooshes pleasantly. Outside, the wind curls, buffeting and pleading, juddering the windows.
The house is not too hot, and it's not chilly, either—just right for sleeping. There's nothing more pleasant than drifting off to sleep, safely protected, when the weather's wild and woolly.
And I am tired…it was a full, busy, GOOD day, and I was glad to climb upstairs at 8:45, soak in a steaming tub, and then fall asleep on page 231 of Slow Horses.
So why now—at 3:34 a.m.—am I wide awake?
The more I try to relax and fall asleep, the awaker I get.
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"How did you sleep?" Mark will say when he comes down in the morning, freshly showered and ready to start the day.
"Hang on," I will answer. "I have to consult my Fitbit."
The Fitbit tells me how long I slept. It tells me how much of that time was spent in REM, deep, and light sleep. It tells me how many waking moments I had across the span of my nightly slumber.
Then it gives me a grade.
Last night, I finally gave up at 3:45, brought my book downstairs, turned the lamp on and read until dawn.
Four hours and 22 minutes, Fitbit sniffed disdainfully. Fair.
I don't think it ever gives a grade lower than Fair. I long for the rare morning the Fitbit pats me on the head and says, "You done GOOD, kid."
That only happens, if I am very lucky, about once a week, though.
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I've been comforting myself with the thought that, at my exalted age, I don't need as much sleep as I used to need. But I'd like to solve the mystery: why are some nights just sleepless? And what can I do about those nights?
I go searching on the internet, and I'm a little dismayed at what I find.
Dr. Mark Stibich, in "How Sleep Changes With Aging," (verywellhealth.com) disillusions me. I DO need as much sleep as ever—I should average between seven and nine hours nightly. But he acknowledges that there are parts of the aging process that interfere with that goal.
Pain can wake me up, for instance, and keep me from dropping back into a slumbrous state. Arthritis, for example, says Dr. Stibich, and he's right: I know that critter. It lives in my right shoulder, and it's happy to remind me, deep in the darkness, that it's hoping to occupy that space for a good long time.
And there are age-associated conditions (diabetes, say; prostate issues for men, for example) that wake us up after two or three hours.
"Hi, Sunshine!" those conditions say. "Hey, let's waltz on over to the powder room!"
And I want to ignore that nagging voice, but, oh: it is persistent.
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Mark and I get up in the mornings and compare notes. How many trips?
One morning last week, Mark bounded down the stairs. "I only got up ONCE all night!" he crowed.
We made ourselves a nice omelet; some things are just worth celebrating.
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Dr. Stibich reminds me that heart troubles can also be sleep-swipers. They can wake me from a sound sleep, wake me with weird breathing issues or irregular heart beats.
And, of course, aging provokes conditions that lead to anxiety. Parkinson's, Alzheimer's, mental illness…all these things lead to anxiety, and anxiety (even the ordinary, garden variety of anxiety) prods my eyelids open, and sends me, finally, padding downstairs while the rest of the world seems to be resting peacefully.
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So maybe I need to change something…maybe I actually sabotage my own sleep. I check Mark Stibich's list of things I can do to foment sleep instead.
—Exercise more, he suggests; people tend to grow more sedentary as they age. It's true that when the weather is lousy, I don't get my long walks in. I try to compensate by sneaking short walks before and after work, but Dr. Stibich is right: I could work on this.
—He also writes about the importance of getting enough sunlight. It makes sense this time of year, when days are speckled with sleety rain and, sometimes, snow, that I don't spend as much time outside. And sunlight triggers melatonin production, and I need that substance coursing through my system to maintain a good night's sleep. I need to push myself out the door every day.
(And, if need be, I can take a melatonin tablet or two half an hour or so before I head upstairs for the night.)
—What are you ingesting, the good doctor asks, and, oh, this is a bitter question for me. Alcohol, nicotine, caffeine—all can interfere with sleeping, notes Stibich. I would own up if that was the case, but I neither use nor abuse any of them. I may have a drink once or twice a year, but really, I gave up all those vices decades ago. (Thank goodness for amazing decaf beans; I would miss my coffee so…) It's not FAIR, I pout, stamping my size elevens. It's not fair. I gave up all this stuff and I STILL can't sleep.
Check your medicines, too, says Stibich. As we age, he gently reminds me, we tend to take two or more daily medications.
And yes, that is true, but I don't THINK the Crestor I take just before bed, per directions, is the culprit.
—And finally, Dr. Stibich points to naps. Naps are great, he says; naps are FUN. But if they run more than twenty minutes, they can steal from our nighttime sleep load. This is not a problem, either, though: sometimes, but not nearly often enough, I sneak a twenty minute snooze in, late afternoon, in the reading chair. I WISH I had hour-long nappie times.
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I'm thinking I can take some steps to improve my sleeping habits…make some dietary changes (I don't need all that sugary stuff, anyway); get serious about morning pages again—-those are such good cobweb cleaners. And most of the thoughts that pop into my head, and seem so hugely significant, at 3:00 a.m. ARE cobwebs.
I'll remember, in the sleeping house, when I was seven and got a grocery bag stuck in my bicycle tire; I was marooned on the sidewalk, and a mean old lady (Old lady: huh! Probably ten years younger than I am now…) screamed at me from her second story window: Move along, you bad girl! Move along!
I'll remember a jerk I worked with in another time and place, and I think, in the quiet hours, of twelve perfect comebacks to a cutting remark he made twenty years ago, a remark that left me uncharacteristically silent. But, oh, I could tell him NOW...
At 3:00 a.m., faux pas and discrepancies come back to haunt me. They're too gauzy to bat away, but they're sticky enough to keep me awake. Cobweb sweeping is in order.
I'm going to try some yoga. I'm going to try some meditation.
Just because I know I'm in good company—LOTS of woman who've chugged around the planet as many times as I have experience sleep issues—doesn't mean I, or any of us, have to stay there.
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The final piece of Mark Stibich's article says this: get plenty of sunlight and exercise, and look at your meds. The time of day you take something may determine how much it affects your rest. Talk to your doctor, he says; talk to the doc.
And if I do all that and nothing improves, then I may have some kind of sleep condition—apnea or insomnia, for instance.
Talk to your doctor, Stibich says again: follow all the sleep tips, see if anything changes, and then: go talk to the doctor.
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I started writing this yesterday, long before the sun came up. I am finishing today, at the dining room table, with beautiful soft winter sunlight pouring in the window. I'm going outside and get me some of that sun. While I'm at it,I'll get me some of that exercise stuff, too.
And half an hour before I head up to bed, I'll take a melatonin.
I swept the cobwebs this morning, scrabbling out three morning pages. I have located a simple meditation I can do each night before bed. I am being careful of diet, starting right now.
Maybe all these practices will kick in, maybe the ship will slowly turn. Maybe I'll start getting up each morning, consulting my Fitbit, and reveling in its review of my sleep. Good! it will say, day after day. And well rested, content, I will smile and sigh.
I'll let you know when if that happens, in a post that, I hope, is not written in the post-midnight quiet of my sleeping house. May your sleep be deep and untroubled.
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