A restless night’s sleep is like taking the train from Sydney to Melbourne

3 days ago 10

When I was in my 20s, an alarmingly long time ago, I was a regular traveller on the Sydney to Melbourne train. I had a boyfriend who lived in Melbourne, and every few weeks, I’d make the 12-hour journey to visit him.

Every trip was the same. I would begin fresh-faced and excited, my carry-on loaded with books, magazines and snacks. We didn’t have phones then, of course, but I had inner resources. I would read! I would relax! I would be fine!

I was reminded of those train rides at 2am last week, when I was tucked up in my own bed at home.

I’d pass the first couple of hours flipping through magazines and eating all of my snacks. By hour three, tedium would set in. By hour four, the existential dread. By hour eight, I’d be grinding my fists into my eyes, my back screaming, the clickety-clack boring into my brain. By hour 10, I’d be a sweaty, sticky mess, my teeth and tongue coated with fuzz.

By the final hour, I would be climbing out of my skin, a half-mad husk of a human being. Needless to say, the relationship didn’t last long. The boyfriend was lovely, but plane travel was expensive, and no one was worth that torment.

I was reminded of those train rides at 2am last week, when I was tucked up in my own bed at home. I’d had a terrible chest cold, and known before I even tried to sleep that it was going to be a losing proposition. Nothing would soothe the hacking cough that was rattling my ribcage: not the lozenges, herbal cough mixture or even the powerful, do-not-operate-heavy-machinery drugs from the pharmacy.

I was tired, so tired, but each time I tried to doze, I was jolted by another coughing fit. I sucked on cough lozenges and resolved to stay calm.

KERRI SACKVILLE

But it was OK, I thought, at 10pm. I was strong! I could cope with one night of no sleep! I climbed into bed with a good book and my phone, took a big dose of medicine, and readied myself for the hours ahead.

I was fine for the first hour – as fine as the increasing soreness of my chest allowed. I read a chapter of a novel, completed a sudoku, and lay on my pillows and listened to a podcast. I was tired, so tired, but each time I tried to doze, I was jolted by another coughing fit. I sucked on cough lozenges and resolved to stay calm, but the night was but young, and I was not.

By midnight, I was texting my partner, even though I knew he was fast asleep. It didn’t seem fair to wake him, but it seemed even more unfair that he was peacefully slumbering while I was relentlessly awake.

By 1am, longing for sleep and barking like an angry Alsatian, I drank a second big swig of the cough syrup, and scrolled deliriously through Instagram and shopping sites until my eyes rolled back in my head. At 2.30am, I drank some honeyed tea, which did nothing to ease my cough, but did make me pee again at 3am.

By 3.30am, demented with exhaustion, I had abandoned any pretence of resilience. I’m not strong, I thought wildly, as another coughing spasm hit. I am very, very weak! And I don’t care! I began rifling through my bedside drawer for something – anything – to put me out of my misery. I grabbed the herbal cough medicine and drank a big gulp straight from the bottle, coughed, then drank a third gulp of the strong stuff, too.

I coughed again. It hadn’t worked! Nothing would work! I was at my wits’ end!

Suddenly, I remembered the single tranquiliser I had spotted in my medicine cabinet a month or so prior. It was old, but I was prepared to take my chances. It was an emergency! I was on the brink of insanity! I needed to get off the train!

I ran to the bathroom and emptied the contents of the medicine cabinet onto the counter, scrabbling through bottles of unused potions before landing on the precious pill. I washed it down immediately with water from the tap, stumbled back into bed, and waited.

I don’t remember much after that. In the morning, I woke up lying horizontally across my bed, my doona in a heap on the floor. My brain felt like mush, and when I tried to swallow, I discovered one cough lozenge wedged inside my left cheek, and another stuck improbably to the roof of my mouth.

I looked at my phone. It was 10.30am. When I checked my emails, I discovered I’d ordered a pair of shoes from an online store at 1.30am.

My long night was much like the 12-hour train trips of my youth. I began the journey feeling hopeful, and quickly descended into madness and despair. My body ached, my head was pounding, and I desperately needed to brush my teeth. Back then, all I got was a sore back and an ex-boyfriend. At least this time, I ended up with a nice new pair of shoes.

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