THE PERILS OF PILLS

Here it is, the end of May, and I am in the lovely English country
village of Pewsey, in an attic bedroom of an old rectory built in
1730. When I say attic, I mean exactly that. The room has been
beautifully restored and decorated, the bed is comfortable, and the
shower is so state of the art that it is almost impossible to use. It
has an eco geyser which means that there is a switch OUTSIDE the
bathroom next to the bedroom light switch. It would be really good to
know that BEFORE you get into the shower and start pushing buttons and
twirling dials. However, out you get, fortunately dry as no water has
yet emerged from anywhere, flick on the red switch, get back in the
shower, push the now glowing button, twirl a dial, and scream as
scalding water cascades with some force all over whichever part of you
is within range! The twenty-first century has invaded the bathroom.
The room itself, however, is decidedly an attic. As I lie on my bed
typing this, my eyes scan the sloping beams very close to my head. Any
inadvertent excursions to the bathroom in the middle of the night are
fraught with the possibility of concussion should I forget where I am
and hit my head on a looming beam.

I have made the wise decision not to take a sleeping pill tonight.
Sleeping pills are helpful to a frequent traveller like myself. I
change time zones and countries several times a year, and so sleeping
pills are friendly travelling companions. Should jetlag smite, I can
pop a pill and laugh at insomnia. Earplugs are another essential,
especially on aeroplanes or in any place inhabited by babies. My
niece, Tasha, who travels with me on occasion, has a dreadful habit of
wrapping her pillow around her head, swallowing a whole sleeping pill,
and sleeping throughout a flight. She has been known to eat breakfast
while fast asleep, then ask indignantly why no food has been served.
On one trans- Atlantic flight a baby screamed so incessantly and
loudly that the sound penetrated Tasha's pillow and drug-induced
sleep, and according to the unfortunate passenger seated next to her,
she shouted, "Throw that child out of the plane!"  She was still fast
asleep, but under the influence of a sleeping pill (or two!) she
verbalized something that every other passenger probably wanted to
applaud.

The reason my mind has drifted into these realms is because of an
incident involving sleeping pills that I would just as soon forget.
But of course I am not going to do that. Instead I am going to lay my
shame out for the whole world to read. Or rather, for my faithful blog
readers to read. Remember that sleeping pills on journeys are staple
necessities for me. I have an obsession with SYSTEMS when I travel.
This means that I collect and hoard bags, containers, travel
accessories, and pill boxes with the earnest devotion of a
psychiatrically challenged bag lady - you know the ones who push
shopping trolleys filled with treasured rubbish through city streets.
The difference is that Tasha pushes my hand luggage through airports,
fully aware that I am going to pack and repack obsessively two or
three times before we board, and again at every stop. I have yet to
discover a system or set of travel packs that truly satisfies me, so
each journey is a new venture on my quest for order.

One of the things that I HAVE to do before I travel is to dispense
pills into those convenient plastic containers marked with each day of
the week, helpfully divided into a.m. and p.m. So I diligently dribble
all my supplements and vitamins and chronic medicines into their neat
little compartments, ready to be poured out into my hand at the
appointed time. My, how satisfying it feels to be so organized. Then,
besides the daily pills I have containers for emergencies. Into these
go tablets that MAY be needed in case of nausea, diarrhoea, sinusitis
(which I NEVER suffer from), muscle relaxants, and sleeping pills.
Tasha and others have sniggered at my travelling pharmacy, but it is
noticeable that should an unexpected ailment strike them, they know
where to come to beg for relief!

Now on to my terrible faux pas involving sleeping pills. First,
though, I need to introduce you to an extremely straight-talking and
formidable businesswoman who has gone on to be with the Lord. Sheila
was a CHARACTER, and I was very fond of her, but she was not to be
trifled with. She would call me on the phone periodically from
Johannesburg, to get me to pray, to share some revelation, or to get
advice, but never for small talk. One day Christie received a birthday
present from Sheila in the mail. It was the type of shirt that my
child would not be caught dead wearing. She was fifteen, and the shirt
had shoulder pads and appliqued sneakers and other cutesy
ornamentation. Christie, who was currently in her gangster phase which
involved oversized denims and braided hair (she desperately wanted to
be a BLACK gangster), looked at the shirt in utter horror, terrified
that I would force her to wear it. "No, come on Mom! MOM! You can't be
serious!" She was so horrified she was hoarse. I reassured her that I
didn't expect her to WEAR the offending garment, but I DID expect her
to thank Sheila profusely, and never, under threat of something
terrible being done to her, was she EVER to let Sheila know what she
thought of her gift.

A week passed. It was a study day for me, so I settled myself on my
bed, surrounded by books, and then remembered that I needed to take my
daily morning dose of supplements. I had just returned from a trip, so
opened a container, poured the pills into my mouth, drank water to
wash them down, and settled down to study. I woke up seven hours
later, dry throat and dribble indicating that I had been lying on my
back, most likely snoring and very definitely dribbling as I slept. As
consciousness returned, so did a dreadful foreboding. I had a very
potent sleeping pill which had been prescribed by a doctor to be taken
only should I ever find myself totally sleep deprived. I had ONE and I
knew exactly where it was. I checked, and sure enough, it was nowhere
to be found. As I had shaken out the tablets, it had fallen out of its
allotted place into my open mouth, and been swallowed.

But that wasn't the issue. A weird sense of a half recalled
conversation drifted through to me, and it involved a phone call and
Sheila. It was too late to call that day, but the next morning I made
one of the strangest calls of my life. Plucking up all my courage I
called Sheila's P.A. "I know this may be an odd question," I said,
trying to sound pastoral, and only succeeding in sounding as confused
as I felt, "but do you know if I spoke to Sheila on the phone
yesterday?" (WHY do I have to say things like that?) "Well, yes,
Fiona, you did," said the P.A., sounding as if she doubted my sanity.
I asked to be put through to Sheila, and that was when I realised that
it is a very bad idea to converse with anyone while under the
influence of a truth serum, which is what sleeping pills apparently
are.

"Are you all right Fiona?" Sheila demanded. "You sounded so terrible
yesterday when I called you that I was very worried about you. I asked
you if you were tired, and you said, 'Very, very tired," but you
sounded as if you were sick because you spoke so slowly." I explained
what had happened with the accidental sleeping pill, thinking that,
thank God, it hadn't gone too wrong, when that bubble burst! "But I am
so sorry about Christie hating her shirt so much," said Sheila,
sounding slightly wounded. With my hair rising on my neck, I asked her
what she meant. Well, she explained, she had asked me if Christie had
liked her present. I had responded with the following tactful answer.
"No, not at all. She hates it! So we are going to give it to an old
lady that we know will like it. But thank you anyway!" Yes, I really,
really did! I tried my best to explain my way out of that one - it was
VERY LOVELY but Christie was a strange girl who preferred plainer
tops, etc, etc. I don't think Sheila bought the explanation, and
Christie was utterly gleeful at her mother's downfall.

So am I going to risk a half sleeping pill tonight? Quite probably,
because it is now nearly midnight, I have my second wind, and have to
be in meetings all day tomorrow. All I can do is pray I don't walk
into an eighteenth century beam in the early hours of the morning, and
that nobody calls me on the phone to ask me if I like what they gave
me, and all should be well. It is SO comforting to me to know that I
never have to worry about telling God the unvarnished truth about
anything, because He hears my heart, and nothing I can say or do will
shock Him. It is also comforting to know that He will never give
Christie an appliqued shirt, but instead will let her be sponsored by
Adidas, (her earthly idol), because He knows what will be a good and
perfect gift to her. He knows what you like and what you dislike, and
you can be sure that He will give you gifts that give you the greatest
joy. And you NEVER have to pretend. And if you accidentally take a
sleeping pill in the day, and lie and snore, He will probably laugh
and tell an off-duty angel to stand guard over you.

Be blessed, and sleep well and naturally. Fiona