Woman Overboard: A Splash of Insight Into Sleep Deprivation and Psychosis

By Sharon Sheltzer

The reader accompanies the author through a few months of psychotic interludes in her otherwise grounded and privileged life, and experiences it through her eyes. She is an accomplished architect, sailor, wife and mother who recently became impacted by Multiple Sclerosis symptoms. This mental anguish begins while on a sailing vacation in the British Virgin Islands and follows her home to the Central Valley and Central Coast in California. Relationships with friends, family, clients and primarily her husband are affected and examined. The reader experiences suspense as one surprising episode follows the other, sandwiched between postcard-like images of sailing harbors, white pelicans and salt-box homes with green lawns and flower beds.
This memoir is about both her experiences and the research to discover the cause of her unprecedented behavior. How could this happen after 60 years of stable mental health? Two potential causes are examined- Multiple Sclerosis or sleep deprivation-and a conclusion is drawn. At times this is a suspenseful story and it also offers the author’s insight into problems with mental health evaluation, misdiagnosis and stigma. Her research about the effects of extended sleep deprivation are startling.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sharon Sheltzer
• Release date: Jan 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005661540

Sharon Sheltzer

Sharon Sheltzer is the author of a memoir titled Woman Overboard- A Splash of Insight into Sleep Deprivation and Psychosis. However improbable it might seem, it was a natural progression to move from her career as an architect to an author. Both pursuits employ creative communication. As an avid reader, and with the utmost respect for the writing craft, she set down her drafting pencils and picked up her laptop and dictionary.She has received inspiration and advice from attending the Central Coast Writer’s Conferences, memoir classes and writer’s groups. Her interests in green architecture, climate change, politics, kayaking, sailing and homeless persons are sure to find their way into her next novel.

Book preview

Woman Overboard!

A Splash of Insight Into Sleep

Deprivation and Psychosis

by Sharon D. Shelter

Copyright © Sharon D. Sheltzer 2021

Smashwords Edition

This ebook is for your enjoyment only. Please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of authors.

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1- Peebles Hospital

Chapter 2- Transition to Sailboat

Chapter 3- On the Boat

Chapter 4- Flight Back Home

Chapter 5- More Humiliation

Chapter 6- Family Dynamics

Chapter 7- The Aftermath

Chapter 8- Los Osos

Chapter 9- The Hydronic Heating Closet

Chapter 10- The Emergency Room

Chapter 11- The Mental Health Hospital

Chapter 12- Home Again

Chapter 13- Revisiting the Psychiatrist

Chapter 14- Beyond Doctors and Returning to Life

Chapter 15- Lifeline Contact

Chapter 16- Trip to Portland

Chapter 17- New Psychiatrist and Anxiety

Chapter 18- September and New Beginnings

Chapter 19- From Dreams to Memoir

Chapter 20- Multiple Sclerosis and Psychotic Behavior Studies

Chapter 21- Sleep Deprivation and Psychotic Behavior Studies

Chapter 22- Unraveling the Deep Dive Overboard

Chapter 23- Musings

Chapter 24- All is Well

Citations

Acknowledgments

Author Information

Prologue

December 13, 2019

11:45 a.m.

There was a time when my gait was normal, but due to my slow but steady decline caused by Multiple Sclerosis, it is impossible not to draw attention. Most people hold their breath and hope I don’t fall when I cross the room. I have added a second foot brace to assist my toes from dropping and causing falls. Although the brace does help, my legs are now noticeably dragging, and walking is very challenging. Carrying my yoga mat into class, I lean over to tie my shoelace tighter for additional support. My balance teeters a bit, as it does with some regularity. A pretty young lady in gym clothes spots me and runs over.

Are you OK? I saw you were having some trouble walking. Then she looked startled.

I know you, do you remember me?

I don’t, but her face looks remotely familiar.

It was the mental hospital. We were there at the same time.

Oh . . ., I utter, feeling exposed. I thought my memories would stay locked inside those walls forever. This first crack in the walls arrives unexpectedly like an earthquake, shaking me and the protective house I had carefully constructed.

Chapter 1

Vacation Day 2 in the British Virgin Islands—March 28, 2017

Peebles Hospital

My sense of hearing woke up first. Distant sounds of an unfamiliar lilting language were punctuated by the drip, drip, drip staccato of a machine hovering nearby. I smelled faint notes of bleach and alcohol. Then my eyes slowly opened. Total darkness, like the bottom of a well. Where am I? I immediately became distracted by the pressure of my full bladder, which prevented me from returning to my sleep cocoon. As I tried to sit up, my heart went into overdrive when I realized that both of my wrists were tied to the cold bed.

Help me! I wailed into the darkness. Receiving no response, I mustered every force from my taut body to make myself heard with a cry. Scurrying sounds were soon replaced by a vision emerging from the dark. White teeth came into focus before I saw a nurse’s uniform and then finally, her dark face. Some understanding of where I was emerged but didn’t mitigate my terror and overwhelming urge to pee.

Please et me go to the baffroom!

She looked at me quizzically as I held my breath waiting for a response. Raised eyebrows provided the parenthesis to her incomprehensible words, which might have been some sort of Creole but certainly were not in the affirmative. Recognizing the failure to communicate on both sides, I let out my hopeful breath and released my bladder. A warm puddle surrounded me, contained by what appeared to be a sterile hospital bed.

Distraught and defeated, I knew the nurse had abandoned me as I heard her shuffle into the darkness. Should I give up or yell out? Screaming is not part of my personality, being the reasonable middle child, born under the signs of Libra balance. With my bladder resolved, and medication waltzing through my veins, I melted into my soiled bed.

Bright fluorescent lights marked the dawning of the morning. I blinked several times before opening my eyes, as the unnatural light broke through my haze. I gazed to the right and saw the IV stand that was hooked to my arm, and to the left where I saw a ward with several unoccupied beds, a window far away with beckoning blue skies, and an empty vinyl-covered seat next to the head of my bed. I remembered why I was here. A nurse came by and added something to the IV, and I fell asleep again. She may or may not have changed my bed and clothes. I wasn’t aware of time or anything that was going on around me.

When I did wake up, I was happy to see my husband filling the previously empty seat. I sighed with relief, knowing that I was not alone, since I had already discovered I couldn’t speak clearly. Although this was already not going well, I hoped my temporary hospital stay in the British Virgin Islands would help me return to our original plan to sail the island chain. Mike was arguing with the staff in a trembling but assertive voice; he insisted they untie me from the bed.

The shift change must have occurred because the day nurses spoke English, and I heard one of them say, She won’t stay in bed; she keeps getting up to the bathroom. Last night she slipped and fell while attached to the IV.

Slipping out of his usual measured tone, Mike emphatically ordered, Then take her to the bathroom more often! She has Multiple Sclerosis and doesn’t always have control of her bladder. Did you read her intake form?

They untied me. At that moment, my husband was my savior and the thread that connected me to my formerly dignified self. But I hated that my power was gone and that the only reason they untied me was because of him. Our thirty-five years of marriage had always been very egalitarian. However, we did participate in more traditional roles with me as the chef and him as the plumber or electrician when needed. He was proud of my physical strength and my self-sufficiency, and he appreciated my construction skills. Together we built one house and improved another with remodels. In those instances I took the lead, while at other times he did, but never like this.

I struggled to say, I want to get out of here, but my words came out garbled again. Mike reminded me that I had been admitted to Peebles Hospital in Tortola for sleep, and hopefully to find out what was wrong with me. I slowly shook my head, yes, but it was all so blurry. In anticipation of the doctor’s visit, the nurses always stopped the flow of drugs into my veins, hoping I would become more coherent. I was not aware of this at the time. I couldn’t understand why sometimes I woke up and could communicate, while at other times my mouth was unable to form words.

A doctor came by to evaluate me. She had a warm smile, and as I looked around at other staff, I noticed that these island people were quite beautiful. I wondered how I must look. I imagined my brown curly hair had dissolved into a frizzy mess in the humid climate. She asked a lot of questions, pausing after each one and waiting for an answer.

What is your name? Do you know where you are? Do you know what the date is? I managed to say, April 2017. I knew patients with Alzheimer’s disease were commonly asked for the date; although I could barely get the words out, I wanted them to see that I was cognitively present. Every time my mother and I brought my dad to the neurologist in the early stages of Alzheimer’s disease, the doctor tracked Dad’s decline by testing his awareness of time.

The doctor continued her inquiry of me. Do you know why you are here? Why aren’t you eating?

I looked to the IV and struggled to answer. Too many drugs . . . diet . . . no sleep . . . And then silence, as I gave up trying to communicate. My brain and my mouth would not align.

At this point, Mike tried to assist by clarifying that I was usually very capable of conversing. He certainly had honed his communication skills during his thirty-five years pleading cases as a public defender, and then six more years as a Superior Court judge. I was somewhat embarrassed to hear him explain in a commanding voice: She’s a highly educated person, an architect, and is usually quite together. I don’t understand what’s going on exactly, but I know this: We are here with five other people, getting ready to go on a sailing trip that Sharon organized. We are supposed to begin here in Tortola and then sail to many other smaller islands.

The doctor shook her head affirmatively, encouraging him to go on.

She also had a lot of other things on her plate before this trip, and it was stressful for her, and stress can exacerbate her MS symptoms.

His conversation with the doctor showed that Mike realized how stressful it had been for me. It was almost a miracle I made it to the airplane in Los Angeles. In the two weeks before this trip, I had completed our taxes, finished an architectural project, and obtained flood insurance for our house. In preparation for our vacation, I had also driven about 120 miles to Ventura with our captain, Pandora, to take a certification course in operating a large, diesel-assisted catamaran. The final day before the trip, Mike and I and our adult kids had even squeezed in an out-of-town wedding. Of course, I had also received many last-minute calls from our fellow travelers about our upcoming transportation plans. Even though I fancied myself as capable of Herculean tasks, my toes had started tingling, a sure sign of stress.

Mike continued his explanation to the doctor, in as compelling detail as a closing argument in the courtroom. We flew from Los Angeles on a red-eye, and she never sleeps on planes. Remembering another fact, he recalled, And she told me that at least one night before the trip she didn’t sleep either. Also, she’s not eating very much because of a special anti-inflammation diet she’s been on for three months to try to improve her MS symptoms. He sighed. When we arrived at the Tortola airport, she couldn’t fill out the required forms and almost fell asleep or passed out while standing. Even though she had made all the prior arrangements, she couldn’t negotiate car rental paperwork because her eyesight wasn’t working, and it seemed like she couldn’t think clearly either. Sharon was very distraught about this.

He went on, making his case, We just chalked it up to exhaustion, but then after we got to our Airbnb, we went out on the patio, and she cried and talked for several hours about the recent death of her brother and father. This outburst was out of nowhere. She had been so strong during their passing and was the rock for her family during these times. We scheduled our stay at the Airbnb for three days prior to the sail, but Sharon has been here instead.

He paused as if thinking about what he needed to say. This pregnant moment was usually a very effective technique in the courtroom. In a more contemplative tone, he said, That afternoon, Sharon claimed to have many insights that she had never previously experienced. Most of these were about her family dynamics. Our group decided that it would do her good to go to the beach. I knew something was wrong when she couldn’t figure out how to put on her bathing suit. I helped her, and we did go to the beach, but she wouldn’t approach the water. This reluctance was also very unusual for her since she loves the water and sailing. That night I don’t think she slept either.

I nodded in agreement as I listened to all this. I wished Mike would also tell the doctor to stop giving me drugs. At this time, neither he nor I knew that sleep deprivation could cause perceptual distortions and anxiety after twenty-four to forty-eight hours, and delusions and disordered thinking after forty-eight hours without sleep. This knowledge could have guided us more successfully through my hospital stay.

What led you to bring her here? The doctor asked.

The next day, our group of friends decided that Sharon might benefit from a massage before we boarded the catamaran we’ve rented for the week. When we picked her up, the masseuse complained that she had behaved oddly before she fell asleep. She wasn’t specific. Trying to get her to eat something and relax, we took her out to a waterfront restaurant. Shortly after her first bite, she violently threw up.

Had she had anything unusual to eat? the doctor asked.

Well, just before we took her for a massage, we did force her to eat some American cheese that was the only food item in the small market. She had not eaten all day. She said it was going to make her sick. He shrugged and opened his palms, the classic who knew gesture.

He wrapped up his case for why I was here. At this point, I called her MS doctor back in the States, and she recommended we take Sharon to the hospital. It was a unanimous decision by our group of friends that we take her to the emergency room. She was acting very differently from her usual self, and we didn’t know if it was just a lack of sleep or something more, like a new MS symptom. Of course she didn’t want to go, but we convinced her that you could give her drugs to put her to sleep so she could get better for the sailing trip.

With the drugs