L.E.G. Versus Thalamus

The day starts to draw to a close. Routines start. Into the bathroom, cleaning teeth, hunting out a clean pair of pajamas, finally climbing into a newly made bed.

Laying there for the first minute of the night, the stress and pain of the day start to melt away, muscles unclench — then, with a large stretch, assume the position for sleep.

A metaphor for my RLS: the 'L.E.G. station'

When you suffer from RLS, you have a sixth sense of sensation in your legs. Lovely and warm underneath a 10.5-tog duvet, your unconscious mind starts to root around in your nerve section of the brain.

Everybody knows someone called Dave, David, Dafydd, Davidde, etc. In this scenario, Dave sits at the L.E.G. station (stands for Let Everyone Go).

“Hey, Dave... anything happening in your section?”

“No, Steve... Captain! Nothing to report.”

Steve is the amoeba in control of it all. He is the CAPTAIN! (Actually, he is assigned to look after our brain. He has a Napoleon complex, so everyone has to call him Captain!) What he is unaware of is that he only overlooks the thalamus, where nerves send information to.

“Are you sure, Dave? She seems to be anticipating something happening!”

“STEVE! I have been doing this job for 48 years. I think I know what I am doing!”

“May I remind you, Dave, of the ‘I thought it was a step’ situation?! When she fell head over heels and bruised her bum?!”

“Yes, thank you, Steve! (In Dave’s head, his inner monologue is throwing all sorts of unsaintly words in Steve’s direction.)

An alarm goes off inside the L.E.G./thalamus complex

Laying there in brushed cotton comfort, just contemplating the world and my place within it, all of a sudden a twinge happens in my calf.

AH-OOH-GA! AH-OOH-GA! A loud voice comes over the Tannoy: “WARNING! Stress levels are rising. We’re in for a night of it, lads!”

The feeling that my head has sunken into my pillow starts, my stomach sinks, my inner monologue (voiced by Ryan Reynolds!) goes, "Oh, no, not restless legs syndrome, not tonight!"

Steve has gone into a full-blown panic. “I only just managed last time this happened!”

“Steve.” Dave is about to blow his top. "May I remind you that it is I who deals with the movement side of things when she turns into the female Michael Flatley?!” (Look him up. He is the Lord of the Dance. Tell me that isn’t what having restless legs syndrome feels like!)

The inevitable creeping feelings ensue

At this point, Steve has donned his riot gear. “Right! I am prepared!”

Dave takes 1 look at him and bursts out laughing! “What do you look like, mate?! Take that off, it’s not as if you have to deal with anything physical!”

Steve glares at Dave. “DO YOU MIND?! I am your superior. Call me CAPTAIN!”

Dave rolls his eyes at Steve. He is such a bellend.

The onslaught starts. Creepy feelings ensue, the inevitable permanent movement of my legs. Luckily, today is not a bad day — if it was, my arms would be involved in the melee. That would be Bob. We really don’t want to hear from Bob. He is so grumpy!

Why is RLS not called restless limb syndrome?

Halfway through the night, the relief from the newly made bed is a mere memory. My legs are up against the wall to try and alleviate some of the tightness felt. I sigh. The nightly battle with my legs, mano a mano, gets tiring and oh-so-frustrating.

We take another glimpse into the thalamus. We see Steve laying on the ground, pounding with his fists, crying, “I never signed up for this! They said it would be easy! I got her through puberty, that was bad, but this is just so much worse!”

Dave looks over at Steve. You can see in his eyes (all 3 of them) the weariness. “I think tomorrow is the day I put in for a transfer. I have heard the arms are a sweet gig.”

A new day and a shift change

As the new day starts to dawn, medication kicks in, and dreamless sleep is in the future for me — knowing that when I awaken, I will feel like I have run a marathon. The joys of restless legs syndrome.

In the central control center, it's shift change. Two other workers have Steve hoisted between them, dragging his feet along like he has had a hard night in the bar. As a matter of fact, they will do this every single morning for years to come, as this night was no different from any other.

Dave wanders down the corridor to the changing room. He is proud to have got me through another night with RLS.