Read Online Detour from Normal by Ken Dickson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ken Dickson
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can't imagine seeing someone, then seeing him or her again only a few weeks later nearly twenty-five pounds lighter. Work seemed progressively easier as the week whizzed by and I quickly caught up. I had unimaginable energy, and people were beginning to wonder if I was OK. "Of course I'm OK. I feel fantastic," I'd respond. The concern grew, and unbeknownst to me, word got back to Beth. Of course, she was noticing things, too: I was talking more rapidly and sleeping less. I was abuzz with ideas and filled with vigor.
I had spotty sleep through May 11. By May 12, sleep was impossible. Overwhelmed, my racing mind collapsed, reduced from its recentbrilliance to a barely flickering candle. Increasingly scatterbrained and incapable of functioning as an engineer, I was forced to leave work early on May 13, unsure when I'd return. The next six days seemed the longest of my life. Attempting to function without sleep was unimaginable. With a freshly repaired colon, I'd been overly cautious, but on May 16, I took a Dramamine and two Benadryl and drank two mugs of Sleepytime Tea over the period of an hour and a half in a desperate attempt to induce sleep. From those I managed only three hours of slumber. Normally, any single one of those would have knocked me out for the night. Fearing overdose, I refrained from trying anything else.
Beth was able to schedule an emergency appointment with Dr. Demarco to discuss my dilemma on May 17. Aside from the few hours the day before, I'd already gone five days straight without sleep and several more with only a few hours of sleep. We met with him at his Scottsdale office, which was a lengthy drive for us. As we spoke, he was very standoffish and reluctant to help. He stated that I was sound from a surgical standpoint and would have to see a general practitioner for my sleep issues. We left no better off than when we'd arrived.
On the drive home, Beth and I were both astonished that a medical doctor would turn his own patient away, clearly in dire straits. There had to have been something within his power: someone to refer me to or someplace he could admit me for help. We could only surmise that he feared legal repercussions or that he suspected mental health issues and wanted no part of that.
Later that afternoon I took my daughter to the dentist's office for a routine teeth cleaning. I'd been to the office regularly for well over ten years and knew the route by heart. I was so debilitated by that time that during the two-mile trip to the dentist's office, I took two wrongturns. In frustration I asked my daughter if she would navigate for me. It required my full concentration just to drive. I was unable to even carry on a conversation and still hope to make it to my destination.
Before that day, people might have assumed I was hypomanic or manic because of my rapid speech and elevated energy. In reality I was no different than someone on amphetamines. My only disability was that I was accelerated. Now I had burned out from whatever coursed through me. While waiting for the dentist to finish, that changed in an instant. The fog that had enshrouded my brain vaporized, and I was once again whole. To test that conviction, I attempted a conversation with the receptionist—something that would have been impossible when I'd arrived. We conversed comfortably for over fifteen minutes until my daughter was released from the dentist's care. Returning home, I further evaluated my abilities by executing a very random and convoluted route while speaking with my daughter all the while. I was easily able to drive while talking, confident of my exact location at every turn. For a brief moment, my life seemed normal once again.
Recalling this incident later, I recognized it not as a return to normal but as my first brush with mania. It was so subtle that, even now, I cannot identify anything that had to be sacrificed for that brief moment of clarity. Indeed, there seemed to be no negative consequences
I had spotty sleep through May 11. By May 12, sleep was impossible. Overwhelmed, my racing mind collapsed, reduced from its recentbrilliance to a barely flickering candle. Increasingly scatterbrained and incapable of functioning as an engineer, I was forced to leave work early on May 13, unsure when I'd return. The next six days seemed the longest of my life. Attempting to function without sleep was unimaginable. With a freshly repaired colon, I'd been overly cautious, but on May 16, I took a Dramamine and two Benadryl and drank two mugs of Sleepytime Tea over the period of an hour and a half in a desperate attempt to induce sleep. From those I managed only three hours of slumber. Normally, any single one of those would have knocked me out for the night. Fearing overdose, I refrained from trying anything else.
Beth was able to schedule an emergency appointment with Dr. Demarco to discuss my dilemma on May 17. Aside from the few hours the day before, I'd already gone five days straight without sleep and several more with only a few hours of sleep. We met with him at his Scottsdale office, which was a lengthy drive for us. As we spoke, he was very standoffish and reluctant to help. He stated that I was sound from a surgical standpoint and would have to see a general practitioner for my sleep issues. We left no better off than when we'd arrived.
On the drive home, Beth and I were both astonished that a medical doctor would turn his own patient away, clearly in dire straits. There had to have been something within his power: someone to refer me to or someplace he could admit me for help. We could only surmise that he feared legal repercussions or that he suspected mental health issues and wanted no part of that.
Later that afternoon I took my daughter to the dentist's office for a routine teeth cleaning. I'd been to the office regularly for well over ten years and knew the route by heart. I was so debilitated by that time that during the two-mile trip to the dentist's office, I took two wrongturns. In frustration I asked my daughter if she would navigate for me. It required my full concentration just to drive. I was unable to even carry on a conversation and still hope to make it to my destination.
Before that day, people might have assumed I was hypomanic or manic because of my rapid speech and elevated energy. In reality I was no different than someone on amphetamines. My only disability was that I was accelerated. Now I had burned out from whatever coursed through me. While waiting for the dentist to finish, that changed in an instant. The fog that had enshrouded my brain vaporized, and I was once again whole. To test that conviction, I attempted a conversation with the receptionist—something that would have been impossible when I'd arrived. We conversed comfortably for over fifteen minutes until my daughter was released from the dentist's care. Returning home, I further evaluated my abilities by executing a very random and convoluted route while speaking with my daughter all the while. I was easily able to drive while talking, confident of my exact location at every turn. For a brief moment, my life seemed normal once again.
Recalling this incident later, I recognized it not as a return to normal but as my first brush with mania. It was so subtle that, even now, I cannot identify anything that had to be sacrificed for that brief moment of clarity. Indeed, there seemed to be no negative consequences
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