Now, waking up with sick family and pets is par for the mother course (so to speak) and I don't hold a grudge for lost dreams if someone is ill. But I have another problem when I try to "knit the raveled sleeve of care" as Shakespeare said. My husband is wild in bed.
Ray suffers from sleep walking. Actually, Ray sleep walks and I suffer from it. Scientists believe sleep walking is inherited and I believe it, since Ray's dad walked in his sleep, too. Family legend has it that Ray's dad once beat a bedside radio to smithereens while still sleeping. And Ray wonders why I sleep with a pillow between us.
Ray has gotten out of bed in the wee, small hours, dressed and tried to go to work, with me running beside him, trying to get through to him, like a Chihuahua yapping ineffectually at a Great Dane. Yet, all this time, he is sleeping.
Lydia, Ray, and Gizmo
I love my sleep. I hate to be awakened. Unless someone is sick or bleeding, I want to be left in dreamland all night long. Unfortunately, Ray's nocturnal ramblings are more frequent when he is sick and once resulted in quite a lot of bleeding.
Angie, April, and Ray
Not long ago, I was awakened by the familiar, agitated jouncing of the bed. As I grabbed Ray's wrist to wake him, he snatched his arm away from me and THREW himself out of bed. After a loud WHAM, I heard a terrible cry from Ray. I rushed around the bed to find him on the floor, bleeding from his mouth. He had dreamed he was high in a tree and was falling out. He landed with his face striking the round plastic bedside trash can. Part of the rim hit Ray's mouth, splitting his lip and causing the later loss of a tooth. The opposite rim of the can gouged Ray's throat, causing a lot of bleeding under the skin. He wouldn't go to the hospital right away, but eventually agreed when I showed him the way his lip gaped open when he talked. It made me a little dizzy and I'm not weak of stomach. The doctor at the hospital glued his lip back together and put a few steri-strips on it and it healed nicely.
"Get up," he would say, "there's a snake in the bed." Or "Get up, there's an alligator in the bed."
"There's no snake (alligator, etc.) in the bed," I would insist, grabbing at the blankets and sheets. "You're sleepwalking; get back into bed!"
One night I was warm and cozy, probably dreaming of dating Clint Eastwood or something, when Ray sat up and said, "Is the reactor running?"
Ray was field engineering a gasifier (also called a reactor) and had been working on it 24 - 7 for months. One of the problems he had with it concerned the ash screw, an auger that moved the wood ash out of the reactor. Surely he would prefer that the reactor be working?
"Yes," I answered, hoping I'd made the right call. "The reactor is working."
"Get out of the bed," Ray shouted, jumping up, starting to grab the sheets.
"All right." he exclaimed. "You'll be sorry when your toe gets caught in the ash screw!"