Shit TAB Say: Part Two

Yesterday, someone I know was angry at his significant other because she had let him sleep in. He felt like half the day was gone! All that time, wasted! He slept only two hours later than he would have liked, but two hours was too much for him.

Welcome to my world, I said.

Sleep is vital for our health–moreso, for differently abled people with conditions like, say, epilepsy. Sleep deprivation can cause of number of problems: lack of energy, lack of focus, slower reaction time, and the longer we go without sleep, the worse the effects become. For epileptics, the time we’re able to go without sleep is shortened, the effects come on much quicker. There is also an additional consequence of sleep deprivation for epileptics: seizures, partials and grand mals.

When I refrain from setting an alarm, it is pretty much guaranteed that I will sleep much later than I want. If I’ve incurred a sleep debt, alarms wouldn’t keep me from continuing to sleep, either. If my alarm goes off before my body is rested, I cannot get out of bed. I’m too exhausted to move.

That’s a lot of “time wasted.” That’s a lot of days “half gone.”

Much less time to do what I want and need to do.

Thoughtless comments.

It’s funny. TAB have much more time to consider the perspectives and experiences of others. And yet. It occurs to me that TAB are wasting a lot more time than I am.

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About Brittany-Ann
Brittany-Ann is a proud, self-identified feminist with fictional tendencies. She currently writes for LouisvilleKY.com and moderates at My Fault I'm Female. She smokes camels, reads Dumas, and navigates a conservative state as "one of them darn liberals."

7 Responses to Shit TAB Say: Part Two

  1. Mikel says:

    I can never get people who think they can function on only 4 hours of sleep at night. Sleep is a necessity, not a luxury.

    So…what exactly does “TAB” mean?

    • Brittany-Ann says:

      Exactly. It’s as necessary as food and air.

      TAB means temporarily able bodied. It refers to able-bodied people, and acknowledges that people may not always be so.

  2. Shauna says:

    I’m one of those people who had epilepsy when I was younger (until around age 10) and then “grew out of it”/stopped having seizures. I *still* prioritize sleep because it was so ingrained in me from a young age that I needed to have a consistent sleep schedule to control my disorder and not have more seizures than I already did.

    Now, at age 20, I have different limits, and a different disability, but I still get a lot of sleep every night and am completely baffled by the many people I know who pull all-nighters with alarming regularity. Sleep lets my body heal from whatever I’ve done to fuck it up that day (even if it’s just sitting through all my classes) (I have auto-immune issues these days), and maybe be able to function the next day even a little bit.

    • Brittany-Ann says:

      Doctors thought I have that form of epilepsy as well–juvenile epilepsy. I stopped having seizures at about age seven or eight–then it started again at fifteen, at the most inopportune moment, of course.

      I pulled my share of all-nighters in college. Coffee was my friend (a double eye opener–four shots of espresso. Yeah.) but naps were my best friend. One thing I was good about was scheduling my classes so that I never started my day before mid-morning, with the exception of one eight am class and PT for ROTC. I did pay for that silliness, though–I had several seizures throughout my college years. I can’t do that shit anymore. Sleep is now sacred. My family and friends know not to disturb me.

  3. n8chz says:

    When Part One was posted, I didn’t know what TAB stood for and never got a round tuit and found out, but here it is revealed, and the first thought that comes to mind is, what about “famous last words of TAB people.”

  4. Anne says:

    I’ve been epileptic my entire life, but wasn’t diagnosed until age 20 (before that, I had absence seizures, and I never understood what was going on). When I was a freshman in college, my school forced me to live with an abusive roommate who, among other things, loved to sleep deprive me on purpose. By the end, I started having tonic-clonic seizures, which is what led to me finally being diagnosed.

    I’ve never read anything about sleep deprivation’s effects on seizures before, so I never made the connection. I feel stupid; I always wondered why I got the double whammy of roommate abuse and epilepsy within a few months of one another.

    Of course, the school victim-blamed me to save face, and according to them, I was just a dramatic brat who wanted to sleep all day (in so many words), and it was my fault for having a mental problem. I realized they were victim-blaming me, but I never saw the ableism in that before. Enlightening.

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