Your Eyelids are Feeling Very Heavy ...

There are innumerable occasions when sleep seems to reach a level of importance beyond necessity; however, two particular occasions over-ride all others – when one is in a hospital bed, or seated in an airplane.

A few years ago, my wife delivered our youngest child. He was bashful, and didn’t emerge until the wee hours of the morning. Of course, by that point, my wife had been awake for a particularly eventful and exhausting 24 hours, and although she felt compelled to handle her new bundle of joy, all she really wanted to do was kick everyone out of the room so she could sleep.

Since I had to work that day, I kissed her goodbye after the din of birth wound down to a routine hum and went home to shower and prepare for my day. I returned in the afternoon, only to find my wife sobbing at my arrival.

I don’t care who you are, no man feels any sort of ego boost when his mere presence is greeted with tearful bursts of dismay by his significant other.

Once she stopped hyperventilating, my wife informed me that it wasn’t my image that caused the crying jag, but rather the fact she had collected less than twenty minutes of continuous sleep since I had left several hours earlier. I was dumbfounded by that comment because it seemed counterintuitive to me.



What’s the best thing for most patients to do in a hospital? I would have assumed “sleep” would be the correct answer.

In reality, it seems hospitals staffs are downright maniacal about keeping exhausted patients awake. Nearly every half hour, or so, someone would come into my wife’s room and ask her some inane question (like waking her up to ask her if she needed to take any medication to help her sleep). Every time a doctor or nurse’s shift would end or begin, like the changing of the guard at the palace, the job-swappers would bid farewell or greet her, depending upon whether they were coming or going. It seemed there were around 6,000 medical employees assigned to that floor, and by all indications, shifts changed every 45 seconds.

Of course, legitimate reasons for waking her were also interspersed throughout the day – blood pressure checks, visits by breast feeding advocates, bringing the baby in periodically for feedings or to help with crossword puzzles, etc.

By the time I got there, my dear wife was fatigued beyond the point of insanity. I literally thought she was going to commit homicide when the haplessly well-intended maintenance employee woke her up to see if she had any questions about how the television worked.

The first decent moment of slumber she enjoyed was two days later in the car on the way home from the hospital.


This same practice, let’s call it “Slumber Interruptus,” is practiced 30,000 feet above the Earth in confining airplanes everywhere.

Being a passenger on an airplane is an incredibly uncomfortable experience, but that’s a rant for another day. One of the most-recommended measures for surviving the “air travel experience” is entering virtual hibernation – going to sleep as quickly as possible and staying asleep, ideally until the second before the doors open and it’s time to step off the plane.

The goals of the flight crew are quite different. Their actions prove their intent is to keep you awake by any means possible so you can’t help but consciously endure every single monotonous instant of flight.

Once you’re seated, if you nod off, you’ll be awakened by flight attendants reminding you to move your seat to an up-right position, or slide your bag under the seat in front of you, or turn off various electronic equipment. Moments later, as you feel yourself lulling back into a stupor, you’ll be abruptly shocked by the unnecessarily loud recitation of the plane’s many safety features, how to fasten your lap belt, and what to do when the plane begins plummeting toward the Earth and cups and hoses (and likely luggage) drop down into your lap from the overhead compartments.

Finally, story time ends, and as you begin your next futile venture into la-la land, the chipper pilot comes across the public address system to welcome you aboard, confirm your destination, share how long the trip will be and how high the plane will be traveling above the planet, and then thanking you for traveling with him and his crew.

This time, you don’t bother trying to fall back to sleep right away. You groggily wait several moments to be sure everyone has said their piece and you can finally be left alone.

Satisfied that the interruptions have ended, you successfully return to a state of placidity – eyes shut, dreams in full swing – when, suddenly, the drink cart slams into your kneecap, waking you with a start.

The words “I’m sorry” are replaced by a disapproving glare from the flight attendant and the phrase “you need to keep your arms and legs in”

At this point, you surrender. Between the oafish flight attendants, the territorial row mates vying for elbow and knee room, waling children, loud-talking strangers and the unmistakable odor of people who have fiendishly removed their shoes and freed their sweaty, stocking feet, you realize this trip, and every one like it, will be excruciating reminders of why man was not meant to fly.

All I wanted to do while I wrote this was sleep. Instead, the flight attendant repeatedly assaulted me with the beverage cart. She and the large man seated next to me spilled cranberry juice on my pants, and the pilot provided up-dates regarding our geographical location at twenty minute intervals.




130 years ago, to cross our nation, settlers pushed and pulled handcarts, livestock and grumbling spouses and offspring across hostile territory, for weeks or months at a time, enduring natural hardships and occasional native attacks. – lucky bastards.