"Max has sleep terror."
I remembered the day I heard my diagnosis. I was eight-years-old when my aunt and I were sat by a brown, doe-eyed woman coated in a overly-large white jacket with a badge attached to it that said
'Dr. Acosta' in large Times New Roman font. "What does that mean?" My aunt gasped out. "I believe based-off the traumatic stress he underwent as a child. With him, seeing his parents committing ' you know.' His PTSD has caused him to develop night terrors," the doctor whispered to my aunt hoping I wouldn't hear anything. "Is there anything we can do about it?" "Well, I'm gonna prescribe him Temazepam to help him fall asleep and stay asleep. For the first five weeks, try to give him one one hour before he goes to bed each day. In a couple of weeks, we'll meet again and see about changing the dosage." She said as she scribbled down the prescription name on a notepad, ripped the paper off the pad and handed it to my aunt. "Hopefully this helps you, Max," she whispered to me as she played with the tuft of my hair. I shyly nodded my head and followed my aunt out the door.
YOU ARE READING
Another Sleepless Night
General FictionMax was eight-years-old when he found out why he was unable to sleep at night. While sitting in a stuffy hospital room the words rolled out of the doctor's mouth. "Max has sleep terrors which stems from his PTSD as a child." After that, Max forced h...
