My rule is to never (or try not to) write late at night because it's kind of like waking up in the middle of the night, and writing down your dreams. They never make sense once you're finally awake.
That's why I plan on posting this when I have a chance to "approve" it tomorrow.
I'm writing this at 2:00 am. Sara's in St. Louis for a conference, and I'm at home. I cannot sleep. Usually, when we're apart for a night, she's at home, and I'm in a hospital room in the city.
Obviously, I'd rather not have to be in the hospital, but if I had to spend a night alone, I'd rather have it be that way. I can't really sleep in the hospital either. They check your vitals every four hours, even throughout the night, so I'm constantly being woken up. Usually, we're trying to record a seizure, so sleep deprivation is a good thing.
Last time I stayed over night at NW, it was for Meningitis last fall. My room was "quarantined," so I think they broke protocol and let me sleep all night. After all, I was in a room with video-monitoring, so they would know if something bad happened.
I remember that my room was so black and quiet. I was still in incredible pain, but drugged. One thing about these strong pain medications... they don't make the pain go away, they just make it so you don't care that you're in pain. So, while I was awake I just stared around the black room with a headache that radiated to my feet. It was so dark that I could close my eyes and open them to the same blackness.
I've never really been afraid in that hospital, but that night, in the dark, I was. I was praying for mercy; praying that I didn't have a seizure while my brain was on fire.