Don't Wake Me if I'm Dreaming by J. E. Chaney Page B

prior to the appointment.
    “Bad dreams, weight loss, no appetite, little sleep, anxiety,” she spoke while writing. The doctor handed me a prescription slip written in chicken scratch.
    “What is this?” I asked, trying to read it.
    “It’s a thirty-day prescription for sleeping pills. Use them diligently. It should help you get caught up on sleep, and will likely make it so you don’t remember your dreams. And please, eat something. Your weight is a border lining questionable concern. I want to see you in a month.”
    “That’s it? I just assumed this would require more than a pill fix?”
    The doctor lowered her glasses, and then gripped the end of her pen recapping it. “Sasha, I think it might be a good idea to talk with a specialist and get a solid perspective on this. I am not a sleep expert, but I am concerned. I wrote in your chart for the front desk to send referral information for an appointment with a sleep specialist named Doctor Chiaki. Her subspecialty is within several medical specialties including neurology, pulmonology, internal medicines, holistic medicines, and psychiatry.”
    “Psychiatry? Really?” I gulped. She had to say the one word I feared most.
    “It’s part of the practice. It’s very common for people to have nightmares, even the inscrutable sort. This situation, however, appears to be affecting your overall wellness. It sure doesn’t sound like much fun to be so miserable and tired all the time. Pills will help for now, but not forever, so I’d suggest making the appointment and see if there is an alternative treatment.”
    I nodded, understanding with little hope for a permanent cure, but for now, accepted the prescription.
    “The front desk will give you the number for Doctor Chiaki, and I marked urgent on the referral process to get it started. She’s a wonderful lady and I think she’ll be a great help figuring this nightmare out. No pun intended.” She smiled meekly. “Now, fill the prescription, go home, eat something please, and take a sleeping pill and get some rest, doctor’s orders. Don’t forget I’d like a follow-up appointment in a month to see how you’re doing. If you have any issues with the pills, discontinue using them right away and call here immediately. We’ll go from there.”
    “And the side effects?”
    “There will be some, possible drowsiness, but I’ll assume you’ll take drowsiness over nightmares and little sleep.”
    “Excellent.” I smirked.
    The receptionist provided Doctor Chiaki’s information on a card, and began the referral process as I was leaving. I hadn’t even made it to my car before having Chiaki’s receptionist on the phone. I figured the sooner the appointment the better.                                                                    
    ***
    I took the little blue pill and slept that night, and slept right through the alarm clock, only waking when my work secretary called to ask if I was out ill. I didn’t recall having a single dream or nightmare, and for that I felt grateful. However, experiencing the side effects of a raging hangover when I woke, I was not so thankful for. The same story repeated the next few nights no dreams, no car accident, no hot man in the woods, little boy, or dead best friend. Just sleep, hour after hour of bottom heavy, abysmal deep sleep.
    Matt made the comment more than once about me in total zombie mode, as I sat staring at his TV hardly blinking from a near lethargic state. It wasn’t until he realized I was uninterested in sex that he finally expressed his concerns. I felt obligated to fill him in on the big picture of having sleep issues and nightmares, but for now, I was reluctant to discuss the matter any further. And when he saw how uncomfortable it made me, he didn’t press.
    ***
    W hen I arrived at Doctor Chiaki’s office a week later for my appointment, it was like entering a Japanese Tabernacle. I