Bob Wire Has a Point (It's Under His Cowboy Hat)

Is Ambien Right For You? Maybe, If You Need the Exercise

By Bob Wire, 1-04-10

	Oh, I suppose I could get more exercise and drink less coffee. Ha ha! Good one!

“Doc, I can’t sleep.” With those four simple words, I was launched on a bizarre trip of paranoia, anticipation, fear and wonder.

“Still having trouble with that, Bob? Tell you what, I’m going to give you something called Ambien—you’ve probably seen it on TV. I’ll write you a prescription.” Dr. Nick pulled a glass thermometer from his shirt pocket and started to write. “Oh, hell,” he said, looking at the thermometer. “Some asshole’s got my pen.”

Yeah, I’d seen Ambien on TV. I’d also heard the stories. People took Ambien, and then the next thing they knew they were in the kitchen, fast asleep, cooking a cheese omelet with shallots and ham, or building a model of the Capitol out of toothpicks and spit. Or they were in the neighbor’s backyard, in their pajamas, digging a trench with a stolen backhoe. One guy was so out of it he actually drove his car to a 24-hour pharmacy and walked in, looking for some Tylenol P.M.

But Dr. Nick and I had been down this road, and nothing else had worked. He’d given me all kinds of stuff, with names like Drowzex™, SandManage™, Sliptenfel™, and something called Zipadeedodol™. Those might not have been the actual names, but hey, I was sleepy.

The pattern with any of those drugs was the same. I’d pop a couple pills and within a half hour, I’d be getting groggy. I’d crawl into the fart sack and fall asleep pretty quickly. Then after about three hours, my eyes would snap open like a couple of window shades, and I’d be awake, thinking about dumb stuff like our mortgage rate or a new wart on my foot, until my alarm clock went off at 6:00.

Occasionally I’d try to enlist Barb’s help. “Hey, honey, you awake?” I’d give her a couple of pokes.

“I’m too tired,” she’d mumble, and put a pillow between us. Blocked. So I’d take matters into my own hand, but still sleep would elude me. Only now I’d also want a sandwich and a couple of beers.

So I was eager to try the Ambien. I had Barb hide the car keys, and I put all my shoes in the bathtub. I shook one of the pills out of the bottle. They’re about the size of a grain of rice. How can these things be so powerful? They are so tiny, I figured I’d better take two. I washed them down with a glass of red wine just to give them a little head start.

Within about 15 minutes, I started to see things moving out of the corner of my eyes. I’d quickly look to the side, but nothing was there. Weird. Peripheral gremlins. Then when I stood up to get a glass of water from the kitchen, the floor began to tilt like I was on the deck of the Titanic. I started to have trouble pointing my eyes to things I wanted to see. Walking through the house, I was bumping into doorways and weaving like a bourbon enthusiast.

My tongue felt like it was wearing a wetsuit. “Honah, Imma goah beeeba humma,” I said to Barb, who was on the couch, reading. “Zee hue wunna mum mooooOOO…” I added.

“Okay, babe. I’ll be in soon,” she said, not looking up from her book. I made my way down the hall, keeping one hand on the wall to help me stay upright. I spilled about half the water by the time I got to my room, and carefully set the glass on my dresser. It fell off, spilling the rest. I fell over three times trying to take my pants off, hitting my head on the closet door. “Owlooh…,” I said, grabbing my elbow.

My eyeballs were turning independently in their sockets like a chameleon, and my knees felt like they were filled with sponge cake. I hung onto the bed and worked my way around to my side. I pulled down the covers and burrowed in. I adjusted my pillow, took a deep breath, and closed my eyes. And then…

I woke up. I looked over at the clock. 6:00. What the…? It had been eight hours, almost to the minute. How did they do that? I got out of bed. My eyes were focused and moving in tandem. My knees felt like they were filled with, well, ligaments and kneecaps. I felt awake and lucid. I was rested and refreshed. Damn, this Ambien was too good to be true. And Dr. Nick had told me it wasn’t habit-forming, as long as I took it every day.

I walked down the hall, whistling a tune, looking forward to my first cup of coffee. As I passed the dining room, I did a double take. There, on the dining room table, was a complete Thanksgiving dinner.

Well, that explained why I smelled like giblet gravy.

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By Bob Wire, 1-04-10 | comments (39) | email story | print story