Once again I find myself awake in the middle of the night; house cloaked in darkness, barely a sound to be heard apart from the fridge softly humming and our dog's incessant snoring. Unable to return to bed which is where I long to be and fall into restful slumber, pain is my unwelcome companion. This is probably the loneliest time for anyone chronically ill, not wanting to disturb the rest of the household who peacefully sleep and are unaware that I'm sitting at the kitchen table once again pouring out my heart with all the thoughts that fill my mind at such an hour. When no pain relief medications work, and no position is comfortable in bed, I cannot lay there any longer gazing at the wooden beams in our ceiling that peer at me through the blackness.
It's an interesting question as to whether one's behaviour as a patient is a result of upbringing, or simply one's personality. I write about this topic in my latest article entitled "The English patient" on The Huffington Post.