Post the Fifty-Fifth - painsomnia and puppies

I've written a couple of times about how I've not been getting much sleep recently (read: for the last month or so) due to muscle pain in my side - and how, in the middle of the night, it helps to remember that there's a positive reason behind it. Well, since I last wrote on the subject, I have an even clearer idea of the cause, thanks to discussions with my osteopath and physio. It seems my intercostal muscles - several different groups of muscles which run in between and connect our ribs, and which are instrumental in maintaining good posture - are going into spasm. As a singer, I am well acquainted with their importance, and after all the work I have been doing it makes perfect sense that they'd be involved. It explains why I wake up gasping for air with the feeling of a stitch, too, because the intercostal muscles are fundamentally linked to the diaphragm - and the only thing that helps is rolling onto my back and taking deep breaths right down into my stomach. 

Along with the better understanding, I have a name for my lack of sleep (painsomnia) which has a pretty simple definition - difficulty sleeping as a result of chronic pain. I'm not sure it's an official word, but it's a phrase used by several people I know who subscribe to 'spoon theory' (itself something on which I've promised to elaborate but have thus far failed to do so. Sorry - soon!) At any rate, it's highly descriptive, and I find it extremely useful.

Today's post, however, is not strictly about the pain. Its focus is rather my dear puppy, Darcy, because he is helping me to get through. Ever since he was little, we have had snuggles in bed last thing at night and first thing in the morning. (The only reason he doesn't stay all night is that we'd have to shut my door, to stop him roaming the flat, and I need it open so I can call if I need to move.)

So, this morning at about six, I having got very little sleep, he came for a snuggle. Then, about an hour later when I needed to flip, he moved off the bed - only to climb promptly on again once I was on my back, and lie next to me along the length of my ribs, with his head on my tummy. He even managed to match his breathing to mine, in an effort to help me regulate it. I've always marvelled at his understanding of the nuances of my situation (I mean, he knows he needs to perch on his wicker chair for me to be able to reach to stroke him) but this was a whole new level. It was if he knew I needed healing, and wanted to provide it.

I love my Darcy dog. He's perfect.