I don't know how to put the effect of my chronic insomnia into words, but my pharmacist (hereinafter referred to as, "Kind Pharmacist") tried to do it for me today. She changed the words to the Emily Dickinson poem "Success is counted sweetest by those who ne'er succeed," to "Sleep is counted sweetest by those who ne'er succeed."
She articulated how I felt when I found out that I had finally been referred for a sleep study and learned I would be treated with medication that I had been unable to afford. My doctor gave me hope. I was so happy, and ridiculously tearful, that my husband cried, too.
(more later)
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