9 Scientific Ways To Fix Your Most Common Sleep Problems

Trouble sleeping at night? Whether it’s stress, body pain, or a shiny blue screen keeping you up, not getting those 7-9 recommended hours of shut-eye can throw off your entire day. Thanks to the awesome power of science, however, we now know some easy ways to tweak our sleeping habits that can remedy the 9 most common problems people face.

No, we’re not talking about melatonin supplements or chamomile tea (though if those work for you, carry on). It’s as simple as setting a morning alarm, or being careful of what time you drink caffeine, or knowing where to place pillows to alleviate certain ailments. Even the temperature of your room plays a role in how well you sleep.

Well, we can’t tell you all of these great tips just yet. Scroll down to find out how to get on your way to sweet dreams tonight – or now, if your eyes are getting heavy just reading this.

(h/t: Tech Insider)

Source: Mayo Clinic

Source: Mayo Clinic

Source: Healthline

Read more: http://www.boredpanda.com/sleep-problems-science-fix-illustrations/

Reality shrivels. This is your life now: 88 days trapped in bed to save a pregnancy

The long read: Months before she was due to give birth, disaster struck for Katherine Heiny. Doctors ordered her to lie on her side in bed and not move and gave her a 1% chance of carrying her baby to term

When I was five years old, my parents decided they could no longer watch the nightly news. Or rather, they could no longer watch it if I was in earshot. The coverage of the attack at the Munich Olympics had caused me to have such an intense fear of being killed by gorillas that I couldnt sleep. No matter how many times my parents explained the difference between terrorist guerrillas and primate gorillas and that there were no gorillas in Michigan anyway I remained sleepless with worry late into the night for weeks. My parents eventually gave up and subscribed to the afternoon paper as well as the morning one.

The problem is not just that I am a champion worrier. Its that I court worry I seek it out, I invite it into my home, never remembering how hard it is too dislodge it from its comfortable chair by the fire. I watch true-crime documentaries when Im alone. I Google photos of black widow spider bites. I know the statistics about paracetamol overdoses. I have memorised the beaches with dangerous riptides. I have installed a carbon monoxide detector in every house I have ever lived in. And when I got pregnant with my first child, I bought What to Expect When Youre Expecting and the chapter titled What Can Go Wrong was the one I read first.

Retained placenta; umbilical cord prolapse; foetal arrhythmia; toxoplasmosis; preeclampsia; placental abruption; gestational diabetes; cytomegalovirus: I read about all of them, and learned the warning signs. Perhaps to other women, these complications remain obscure, shadowy threats during pregnancy, but to me they were hard, clear, immediate dangers. When my obstetrician told me that mine was a perfectly normal pregnancy, the very first thing I said was: Are you sure?

And yet I was surprised when disaster struck. The things you worry about arent supposed to happen thats what worry does. Its a preventative. And my disaster happened quickly, without fanfare or drama. One second, I was a nice, normal, happy pregnant married woman of 32, walking across my bedroom to my desk while my husband made lunch downstairs. And then the warm fluid gushed out of me, soaking my clothing and leaving a little wet spot on the pale green carpet.

I yanked down my jeans and pants, expecting blood, but there was only wetness. I knew it was very likely that my waters had broken, but I was barely 26 weeks pregnant. It didnt seem possible. I stepped out of my clothes and went to the top of the stairs to call my husband. He stood on the landing with his hands all sticky from making hamburgers, and I told him what had happened. We discussed it for a surprisingly long time. Was it really so bad? How much fluid? Maybe a cup? Was there blood? Was the baby still kicking? Should I call my doctor? Yes, we decided.

I wrapped a towel around my waist and called my obstetrician. He was a man in his late 50s with a perpetual hangdog expression, and for this reason, my husband and I called him Doggie B. I loved Doggie B. Nothing ever surprised him, nothing ever alarmed him. I could not picture him giving me bad news, and because I could not imagine it, I felt it wouldnt happen.

I want you to meet me at the hospital, Doggie B said. Go to the maternity ward. And I want you at Georgetown Hospital where they have the neonatal unit.

I put on fresh pants and jeans and my husband and I drove to the hospital. It was 29 January 2000, and an ice storm was just beginning. Something happened to me on the way to the hospital: my mind split in two. One half was convinced that that this trip was unnecessary, that, of course, my water hadnt broken, that I was just fine. The other half was just as sure my waters had broken and that I would almost certainly go into labour and give birth to a baby too young to live. The two halves of my mind rotated inside my head like the lights of a lighthouse, the worried part flashing and then disappearing, replaced by the calm one.


At the hospital, a doctor who looked just like Andie MacDowell performed a pelvic exam and took vaginal swabs. A nitrate test was done on one of the swabs for the presence of amniotic fluid. (Its presence would have meant membranes containing the baby had ruptured three months prematurely and would most likely cause me to go, disastrously, into labour.) The other swab was for sent off to the lab to check for the presence of arborisation, otherwise known as ferning, because amniotic fluid produces a delicate, leafy pattern under the microscope. Both tests were negative, although they were running a repeat just in case. I began to feel a little ridiculous.

The Andie MacDowell doctor told us that there was no evidence that I was leaking amniotic fluid, but that they were going to admit me, she said, on the strength of my story.

The strength of my story! I was appalled. Im a writer of course I told a strong story. Maybe I didnt need to be here, I told my husband, as nurses wheeled my gurney into a private room. Maybe I should just tell an equally strong story about how nothing was wrong and go home.

The doctor came back. I just saw the ferns, she said. You have definitely ruptured. Well try to delay labour as long as possible.

Three months? I asked.

Yes, thats the hope, she said.

I wouldnt have been so scared if it werent for the look on her face.

Dom
Illustration: Dom Mckenzie

Nurses came into my room and began to bustle around me while the doctor explained that my condition was called preterm premature rupture of membranes, or pPROM. The two most dangerous (and most common) complications of pPROM are extreme pre-term birth and chorioamnionitis, a bacterial infection of the foetal membranes. Both are devastating for the foetus. I reached for my husbands hand.

The nurses put me in Trendelenburg, meaning my hospital bed was tilted so that my head was 20 degrees lower than my feet. (I thought it was some long German word that meant head below feet on the side of a mountain.) A nurse wrapped a foetal monitor to my belly with a thick strap, explaining that it could be read from the nurses station, and they would know immediately if I began having contractions. Another nurse slid a pair of puffy compression leggings on to my legs. They inflated and deflated every other minute with a whooshing sound. It was like having Darth Vader breathing at my bedside. I was told to lie on my side in order not to put pressure on my vena cava, which would lower the babys oxygen supply. Yet another nurse poked a needle into my arm to start a line for intravenous antibiotics.

The doctor gave me a shot of steroids to help develop the babys lungs, in case the baby would shortly be needing those lungs to breathe. Arent steroids counter-indicated in pregnancy? I asked.

Yes, but its more dangerous to go without, she said.

Doggie B called the hospital to stay that he couldnt make it in because of the ice storm. In his absence, the doctor ordered the nurses to give me a shot of terbutaline, a medication that can delay preterm labour for up to 48 hours.

Please, I begged. I dont want any more shots. Im not in labour. This could be so bad for the baby.

From the moment I learned I was pregnant, I had divided the world into things that were OK for the baby, and things that were bad for the baby. The first group included rice, poached chicken and yoga, The second group included alcohol, secondhand smoke, deli meat, smoked seafood, raw eggs, soft cheese, pt, caffeine, unwashed vegetables, diet soda, eggnog, x-rays, aspirin, ibuprofen, antihistamines, nasal decongestants, cough syrup, librium, valium, sleeping pills, castor oil, vitamin A supplements, paint fumes, insect repellent, acupuncture, cats, hair dye, altitude, saunas, reptiles, tick bites, microwaves, electric blankets, rollercoasters, bikini waxes, stiletto heels, hot dogs and tap water. I trusted no one but myself and Doggie B to categorise items, and certainly not a doctor I had met 10 minutes before.

They gave me the terbutaline anyway. It made me dizzy and cold, though it makes most people hot. They piled more blankets on top of me. My hands shook uncontrollably.

The neonatologist came to talk to us. He had thick glasses and he talked in percentages. It was clear that he was not interested in offering comfort; he was there to convey information. He told us that for babies born at 26 weeks, the survival rate is 50%. Of the surviving half, one-third had major disabilities, and are likely to be dependent on caregivers for ever. It was common for them to have breathing problems, cardiac disorders, brain bleeds, cerebral palsy. Brain damage, deafness, blindness. Another third had more moderate disabilities: spastic muscles, significant hearing loss, impaired vision without blindness. The final third (the best we could hope for, apparently) had milder learning disabilities, anemia and digestive complications.

I watched him dispassionately, not really listening. He was so stereotypically nerdy that I couldnt get over it. Why was he telling us all this scary shit anyway? I wasnt going to go into labour. The baby wasnt going to be born yet. Why couldnt anyone understand that?


The first night was longer than I would have believed possible. Visiting hours ended and the nurses chased my husband out. He drove home on streets that crackled and shifted with ice. I was not allowed to stand, or even sit. I was served a dinner that I was too nervous to eat. And I learned about bedpans. Peeing into something the size and shape of a casserole dish while lying in bed with your head angled toward the floor is messy and awkward.

But that is not the worst thing about bedpans. The worst thing is the other people involved. Having to ask someone to bring you a bedpan, having to make conversation with that person while you use it, having to apologise because your aim is a little off and now theres a wet spot on the sheets, having to ask that person to wipe you, having to ask her to wipe you again because you still feel damp and sticky, having to thank the person, and you do really thank her, you are so grateful, its just that two hours ago you were an upright person with a little dignity, and now youre not.

The hospital lowered the lights in the hall, just like on a transatlantic flight. Nurses went by on squeaky shoes. I lay on my side and gripped the metal railing of my bed. The lighthouse in my mind revolved, and for one instant the room was flooded with cold, bright, white fear for the baby. Then it was gone. Certainty that the baby would not be born early stole over me, and I gathered that certainty close. I lay awake and watched the sleet falling outside my window. It occurred to me that I could not see the ground.

Doggie B came to see me the next day.

Can you believe this? I said to him. Me, your most paranoid patient!

He didnt bother to deny that I was his most paranoid patient. When he spoke, his voice was mild and unconcerned. He said that I would remain on bed rest, and unless infection forced us to act sooner, he would deliver the baby at 33 weeks, when the greatest risk was over.

I didnt want to have the baby at 33 weeks. I wanted to have the baby at 40 weeks, like everyone else. I knew the risks. But I had also been told the risks of preterm infection: a baby born with brain damage, cardiac defects, limb abnormalities, microcephaly, hydrocephalus, paralysis, bone lesions, eye lesions or possibly no live baby at all. I refused to weigh the risks; I would simply not go into labour, nor would I develop an infection. That was all there was to it.

I frowned at Doggie B. Why 33 weeks? Why not go to May 10? That was my due date.

He shrugged. OK, May 10.

He was a much better liar than the Andie MacDowell doctor.

After Doggie B left, the nerdy neonatology doctor came to my room again. He wanted me to go down to the neonatal intensive care unit (NICU). You need to see what a preemie looks like, he said, pushing his glasses up his nose. You need to prepare yourself.

The Andie MacDowell doctor was there, too. A three-pound baby takes some getting used to, she said. You dont want to see one for the first time in the delivery room.

To both of them, I turned a deaf ear and a sullen face. I was not going into labour. I was not going to go to the NICU and no one could make me. Conversation was cut short when another nurse came in and told me that my monitor had showed slight disturbances, and gave me another shot of terbutaline.

I cant believe terbutaline makes you cold, this nurse said as she took blankets from the blanket-warmer and I shivered beneath them. Out in the hall I heard her say to someone: That one is so contrary.

I could see remotely that all these doctors and nurses knew something I didnt. I found out much later that what they knew were the odds. Fifty per cent of women with pPROM go into labour within 48 hours, and 95% deliver within one week of rupture. Four of the remaining 5% deliver within two weeks. One percent of women with pPROM experience spontaneous resealment of the membranes and go on to carry the baby to term.

One per cent.


Do you knit or crochet? one of the nurses asked me early on. Lots of bed rest patients find that helps them pass the time. No, I read and I write, I answered, pretentiously. And untruthfully, because I have always watched a great deal of TV.

I couldnt write because I couldnt sit up. I also couldnt write because if I focused too much on my situation, the lighthouse in my mind would revolve and the worried, scared part of me would rush out, gibbering with alarm, baying, screaming, howling that the baby was going to be born too soon, the baby was coming now, the baby was going to die. How could I write with that going on?

I had a headache from being in Trendelenburg. I couldnt remember what it was like to look someone in the eye, so long had I now spent gazing up at everyone from thigh-level. When I ate, it was one wobbly, precarious forkful at time. After a while, I just gave up and if I couldnt eat it with my fingers, I didnt eat at all. I drank through a straw, until everything tasted the same: like the plastic of the straws.

I couldnt write, so instead I read. Constantly. Ceaselessly. I had to hold the book open in front of me sideways, like someone gripping a large steering wheel. My husband brought me books and I stacked them on my overbed table, and as I read each book, I held the next book in my free hand, with my finger marking the start of the first chapter so that as soon I finished one book, I could immediately start another. I must have read dozens of books while I was in hospital, and I can only remember one of them.

Only one book held my interest. I told my husband exactly where to find it on the bookshelf near my desk and he brought it to me: Steven Callahans Adrift, a memoir of the 76 days in 1982 during which Callahan had survived in an inflatable life raft after his sailboat sank. I had fallen in love with the book when it was first published, in 1986. It seems like a strange choice of reading for a teenage girl, especially one as studious and non-athletic and seasickness-prone as I was. But I have always been drawn to survival stories: they dovetail nicely with my chronic fear of disasters.

Callahan spent more than two months in a rubber raft in the middle of the Atlantic, spearing fish to eat raw, using solar stills to distil water, and making endless, desperate makeshift repairs to his patched and leaking vessel. I had read Adrift many times over the years, but now I read it again, and was inspired by his suffering and ingenuity in a new way. I was in a hospital bed where nurses brought me meals three times a day, and I slept in a bed on clean sheets and was in no danger of drowning. I could do this. I could.


You dont sleep in hospital. You cant sleep. Too many people coming and going. A nurse comes every four hours to check your vitals: temperature, pulse rate, blood pressure, babys heartbeat. Another nurse comes in every two hours to make sure you are doing your kick-counts. Meals come three times a day, plus a night-time snack for pregnant women, which means four times someone comes into your room to deliver a meal, and four more times someone comes back to collect the tray. A nurse comes every time you need to use the bedpan. An orderly comes every morning to take you for an ultrasound. Your obstetrician comes by every day to check on you, and you dont want to miss his visit, because he is the only one who tells you what you want to hear no, theres no sign of infection; yes, Im sure youll carry to term. The hospital chaplain stops by once a day. She was a mousy woman with a perpetually scared expression. Its not a good look on a hospital chaplain.

So thats more than 30 people coming to your room and interrupting your sleep. And then theres the physical part of it. If you are confined to bed, after you lie on your side for a few days, it begins to feel as if your hip sockets are lined with metal shavings, as if the sheets are covered with shattered glass. Before long, red, rough, scaly patches the size of saucers appear on your hips and your shoulders the beginnings of bedsores. The compression leggings chafe your thighs.

You forget how to sleep. The line between waking and sleeping used to be as clear and sharp as the line down the middle of a road, but after two weeks, that line has blurred and is almost invisible. You stagger back and forth across it like a shambling drunk, until there is no more sleeping and waking; there is just this dim, dull, soupy consciousness. Your reality shrivels down into one long, hazy, beige-tiled tunnel. You used to worry, but it has gone beyond that now. Worry used to be inside you, but now you are inside it. Worry is a dome that has descended over you and trapped you. This is your life now. This is your world.

Every day about 10am, an orderly arrived with a gurney and I carefully scooted on to it and then the orderly pushed the gurney through the hospital halls to the prenatal department.

Two weeks had gone by, and I hadnt gone into labour. This seemed to surprise everyone but me and Doggie B, who began, cautiously, to speak of resealment. The nerdy doctor came by and gave me a whole bunch of new statistics about what the babys chances were at 28 weeks, at 30 weeks. He didnt go beyond 30 weeks, though. They removed my IV. Everyone talked about something called BP as though they were speaking of the Rapture. (Bathroom Privileges.) The atmosphere in my room became positively springlike, despite the snow outside.

Doggie B said the first step would be for me to get up and take a shower. A shower! Nothing could have been more tempting. He gave me a date. Now it was something to look forward to. I had my husband bring in a bottle of my favourite shampoo and a bar of coconut soap. The day finally came. A nurse removed my circulation leggings. I sat up slowly and swung my feet to the floor. The nurse took my arm and helped me to stand. I stood there, swaying. Amniotic fluid poured out of me and splashed to the floor. The nurse let go of my arm in surprise. I lay back down and turned my face to the wall.

It took me a while to regain my strange equilibrium, especially considering that the doctors now suspected I had been leaking continuously since the first rupture. Rupture of the membranes is considered prolonged (and therefore dangerous) when more than 24 hours passes between the rupture and the onset of labour. My waters had broken more than 300 hours ago. The risk of sepsis was very high.

Katherine
Katherine Heiny. Photograph: Leila Barbaro

But still, two days maybe three and the stubbornly optimistic side of my personality fought its way to the forefront and re-planted its battle flag. The Andie McDowell doctor wrote in my chart: Patient needs to understand that resealment is highly unlikely at this time and that preterm birth is almost a certainty. Yeah, well, thats what she thought. This baby was not coming early. I simply wouldnt allow it.

Another week in bed went by. Every once in a while, they had me stand up, and every time I leaked amniotic fluid. But still I didnt go into labour. Nor did I have a fever or abdominal pain, the two greatest indicators of infection. Life as I now knew it went on.

After I had been on bed rest in the hospital for 25 days, there came a time when I stood up and no fluid gushed out of me to splatter on the floor. The nurse and I looked at each other in amazement. Go take a shower, quick! she said. Ill change the sheets on your bed.

It was not the slow, luxurious shower I had dreamed of, but I can tell you this: it was pretty fucking nice. They didnt allow me out of bed again that day, but I was finally taken out of Trendelenburg. I stood up the next day and again there was no leak. I took another shower.

When Doggie B came to see me next, I was sitting in a chair to greet him, radiant, both my pride and my belly enormous.

I had done it. I had resealed. I was in the 1%.


Doggie B wanted to send me home. I fought him. I had been in the hospital for almost a month at this point, and I was pretty much institutionalised. Go home? Without the foetal monitor? With no nurses to listen for the babys heartbeat every four hours? No daily ultrasound? Uh-uh. He was crazy if he thought I could handle that much responsibility. I told him that I needed to be in the hospital near the NICU. I pointed to my chart where it said Severe Risk Pregnancy in big scary letters. Doggie B stood firm. He discharged me and my husband drove me home.

Steven Callahan writes of seeing the first food after his rescue a cake of chipped coconut topped with a dot of red sugar and how he looked at it in wonder and thought: Red! That was exactly how I felt when I saw my house again. Green! Blue! Lilac! My hospital room had been unrelentingly beige.

I was still on almost total bed rest, allowed up for 15 minutes twice a day. A shower in the morning and dinner at night. Out of the hospital, the lighthouse in my mind revolved faster and faster, unchecked by the nurses reassurance. I counted constantly how often the baby kicked, and took my temperature five times a day. The amniotic sac had resealed, but the rupture had been extremely prolonged, greatly increasing the chances of an infection reaching the baby. Even feeling the babys movements could not quell my worry. Doggie Bs receptionist learned to put me straight through to him when I called.

Time ground slowly by. My husband brought me breakfast in the morning before he left for work. Our housekeeper brought me lunch. My husband brought me dinner and we ate at the card table he had set up in the corner of our bedroom. Then I crawled back into bed and worried until I fell asleep, woke up, and started another day. That was my routine, and I never varied from it. I dont mean I never varied from it significantly; I mean I never varied from it at all.

Thirty-one weeks. Thirty-two weeks. Thirty-three. Still I didnt go into labour. I lay in bed and stroked my abdomen with my fingertips. Thirty-four weeks. Thirty-five. March ended and April began. A blizzard of cherry blossoms replaced the snow outside my bedroom window. Thirty-six weeks. Thirty-seven weeks. I no longer watched TV or pretended to read books. I knew nothing but my belly and the endless waiting. Time had softened and stretched like taffy, pulling itself into long, gooey ribbons. Thirty-eight weeks. Thirty-nine. I was certain that the baby would be born on 21 April, the same day Steven Callahan was rescued. But 21 April came and went. And then one day I got up to take my morning shower and felt the slightest trickle of fluid run down my leg. My waters had broken for the last time.


Our son was born 12 hours later at Sibley Hospital in Washington DC. We named him Angus. And so my life changed again in another minute, another second. The two halves of my mind fused back together. I went from severe-risk pregnancy to healthy new mother. I was totally unprepared. For so long the goal had been to stay pregnant I had almost forgotten that a baby was the end result. I knew nothing about newborns, nothing about breastfeeding or burping or vaccinations. The nurses had to show me everything. One them said, in a careful voice: Ive heard about you, I think. I could tell that whatever she had heard was, at best, a mixed review. Didnt you rupture very early and do a lot of bed rest over at Georgetown?

I felt a stubborn thump of pride. Thirty days at Georgetown. Eighty-eight days altogether.

Wow, she said. I bet you never want to see a hospital again.

I didnt know how to tell her that almost the opposite was true. It wasnt just that I knew about hospitals now, and knew I could survive a long stay in one. I was a different person from the one who had been admitted all those weeks and months ago: a tried person, a changed person. Very few experiences transform your view of the world and yourself, but bed rest did that for me. I had beaten nearly unthinkable odds. All the things I have always meant to fix about myself but had never got around to my stubbornness, my hypochondria, my inflexible nature had turned out not to need fixing. Had, in fact, turned out to be survival skills.

Twenty-four hours went by, and I cried because I never wanted Angus to get any older. The impossible had happened: time had speeded up.

Six months later, I arranged to speak to Steven Callahan by phone. I told him how much his book had meant to me, how much he had inspired me. We discovered that we had both been obsessed with numbers, with calculating and re-calculating the days of our progress. I told him that my ordeal had altered me in some fundamental way, that sometimes I even missed the mind-bending, terrifying force of it. He agreed.

Sometimes I feel a loss, he said, in terms of the fact that few if any experiences I will ever have again can equal the intensity and importance of that one. You try to mine the precious elements of the experience, but they slip away from you, and thats another loss. You try to appreciate this enormous gift youve been given, but eventually you just get on with it.

The precious elements of my experience were fading, too. I took my bathroom privileges for granted now. I slept on my back again. I went for walks. I worried about traffic jams and deadlines and love handles, just like a normal person. I got on with it.

Angus is 17 now, taller than me, taller than my husband. He has the beginnings of a moustache and a voice as deep as James Earl Joness. He knows how to do laundry, and make spaghetti. He can take the Metro by himself, and he learned to drive this summer. Its possible he watches porn on the internet. (Its extremely possible.) I have new fears and worries, about teenagers. The bright, icy terror of the hospital is behind me, but it has taken a long time.

One day, when Angus was about three years old, I cleaned out a closet and unexpectedly found the plastic water pitcher that had been by my hospital bed. In an instant, the lighthouse in my head revolved, and everything went white and cold. I was certain that the baby was in danger so certain that I had to run to the bathroom and vomit. I dont know why this surprised me, or why I thought I would be different, immune to the after-effects of my ordeal. All survivors have scars.

Main illustration by Dom McKenzie

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Read more: https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2017/oct/24/88-days-trapped-in-bed-to-save-a-pregnancy-bed-rest

The shorter your sleep, the shorter your life: the new sleep science

Leading neuroscientist Matthew Walker on why sleep deprivation is increasing our risk of cancer, heart attack and Alzheimers and what you can do about it

Matthew Walker has learned to dread the question What do you do? At parties, it signals the end of his evening; thereafter, his new acquaintance will inevitably cling to him like ivy. On an aeroplane, it usually means that while everyone else watches movies or reads a thriller, he will find himself running an hours-long salon for the benefit of passengers and crew alike. Ive begun to lie, he says. Seriously. I just tell people Im a dolphin trainer. Its better for everyone.

Walker is a sleep scientist. To be specific, he is the director of the Center for Human Sleep Science at the University of California, Berkeley, a research institute whose goal possibly unachievable is to understand everything about sleeps impact on us, from birth to death, in sickness and health. No wonder, then, that people long for his counsel. As the line between work and leisure grows ever more blurred, rare is the person who doesnt worry about their sleep. But even as we contemplate the shadows beneath our eyes, most of us dont know the half of it and perhaps this is the real reason he has stopped telling strangers how he makes his living. When Walker talks about sleep he cant, in all conscience, limit himself to whispering comforting nothings about camomile tea and warm baths. Its his conviction that we are in the midst of a catastrophic sleep-loss epidemic, the consequences of which are far graver than any of us could imagine. This situation, he believes, is only likely to change if government gets involved.

Walker has spent the last four and a half years writing Why We Sleep, a complex but urgent book that examines the effects of this epidemic close up, the idea being that once people know of the powerful links between sleep loss and, among other things, Alzheimers disease, cancer, diabetes, obesity and poor mental health, they will try harder to get the recommended eight hours a night (sleep deprivation, amazing as this may sound to Donald Trump types, constitutes anything less than seven hours). But, in the end, the individual can achieve only so much. Walker wants major institutions and law-makers to take up his ideas, too. No aspect of our biology is left unscathed by sleep deprivation, he says. It sinks down into every possible nook and cranny. And yet no one is doing anything about it. Things have to change: in the workplace and our communities, our homes and families. But when did you ever see an NHS poster urging sleep on people? When did a doctor prescribe, not sleeping pills, but sleep itself? It needs to be prioritised, even incentivised. Sleep loss costs the UK economy over 30bn a year in lost revenue, or 2% of GDP. I could double the NHS budget if only they would institute policies to mandate or powerfully encourage sleep.

Why, exactly, are we so sleep-deprived? What has happened over the course of the last 75 years? In 1942, less than 8% of the population was trying to survive on six hours or less sleep a night; in 2017, almost one in two people is. The reasons are seemingly obvious. First, we electrified the night, Walker says. Light is a profound degrader of our sleep. Second, there is the issue of work: not only the porous borders between when you start and finish, but longer commuter times, too. No one wants to give up time with their family or entertainment, so they give up sleep instead. And anxiety plays a part. Were a lonelier, more depressed society. Alcohol and caffeine are more widely available. All these are the enemies of sleep.

But Walker believes, too, that in the developed world sleep is strongly associated with weakness, even shame. We have stigmatised sleep with the label of laziness. We want to seem busy, and one way we express that is by proclaiming how little sleep were getting. Its a badge of honour. When I give lectures, people will wait behind until there is no one around and then tell me quietly: I seem to be one of those people who need eight or nine hours sleep. Its embarrassing to say it in public. They would rather wait 45 minutes for the confessional. Theyre convinced that theyre abnormal, and why wouldnt they be? We chastise people for sleeping what are, after all, only sufficient amounts. We think of them as slothful. No one would look at an infant baby asleep, and say What a lazy baby! We know sleeping is non-negotiable for a baby. But that notion is quickly abandoned [as we grow up]. Humans are the only species that deliberately deprive themselves of sleep for no apparent reason. In case youre wondering, the number of people who can survive on five hours of sleep or less without any impairment, expressed as a percent of the population and rounded to a whole number, is zero.

The world of sleep science is still relatively small. But it is growing exponentially, thanks both to demand (the multifarious and growing pressures caused by the epidemic) and to new technology (such as electrical and magnetic brain stimulators), which enables researchers to have what Walker describes as VIP access to the sleeping brain. Walker, who is 44 and was born in Liverpool, has been in the field for more than 20 years, having published his first research paper at the age of just 21. I would love to tell you that I was fascinated by conscious states from childhood, he says. But in truth, it was accidental. He started out studying for a medical degree in Nottingham. But having discovered that doctoring wasnt for him he was more enthralled by questions than by answers he switched to neuroscience, and after graduation, began a PhD in neurophysiology supported by the Medical Research Council. It was while working on this that he stumbled into the realm of sleep.

Matthew
Matthew Walker photographed in his sleep lab. Photograph: Saroyan Humphrey for the Observer

I was looking at the brainwave patterns of people with different forms of dementia, but I was failing miserably at finding any difference between them, he recalls now. One night, however, he read a scientific paper that changed everything. It described which parts of the brain were being attacked by these different types of dementia: Some were attacking parts of the brain that had to do with controlled sleep, while other types left those sleep centres unaffected. I realised my mistake. I had been measuring the brainwave activity of my patients while they were awake, when I should have been doing so while they were asleep. Over the next six months, Walker taught himself how to set up a sleep laboratory and, sure enough, the recordings he made in it subsequently spoke loudly of a clear difference between patients. Sleep, it seemed, could be a new early diagnostic litmus test for different subtypes of dementia.

After this, sleep became his obsession. Only then did I ask: what is this thing called sleep, and what does it do? I was always curious, annoyingly so, but when I started to read about sleep, I would look up and hours would have gone by. No one could answer the simple question: why do we sleep? That seemed to me to be the greatest scientific mystery. I was going to attack it, and I was going to do that in two years. But I was naive. I didnt realise that some of the greatest scientific minds had been trying to do the same thing for their entire careers. That was two decades ago, and Im still cracking away. After gaining his doctorate, he moved to the US. Formerly a professor of psychiatry at Harvard Medical School, he is now professor of neuroscience and psychology at the University of California.

Does his obsession extend to the bedroom? Does he take his own advice when it comes to sleep? Yes. I give myself a non-negotiable eight-hour sleep opportunity every night, and I keep very regular hours: if there is one thing I tell people, its to go to bed and to wake up at the same time every day, no matter what. I take my sleep incredibly seriously because I have seen the evidence. Once you know that after just one night of only four or five hours sleep, your natural killer cells the ones that attack the cancer cells that appear in your body every day drop by 70%, or that a lack of sleep is linked to cancer of the bowel, prostate and breast, or even just that the World Health Organisation has classed any form of night-time shift work as a probable carcinogen, how could you do anything else?

There is, however, a sting in the tale. Should his eyelids fail to close, Walker admits that he can be a touch Woody Allen-neurotic. When, for instance, he came to London over the summer, he found himself jet-lagged and wide awake in his hotel room at two oclock in the morning. His problem then, as always in these situations, was that he knew too much. His brain began to race. I thought: my orexin isnt being turned off, the sensory gate of my thalamus is wedged open, my dorsolateral prefrontal cortex wont shut down, and my melatonin surge wont happen for another seven hours. What did he do? In the end, it seems, even world experts in sleep act just like the rest of us when struck by the curse of insomnia. He turned on a light and read for a while.

Will Why We Sleep have the impact its author hopes? Im not sure: the science bits, it must be said, require some concentration. But what I can tell you is that it had a powerful effect on me. After reading it, I was absolutely determined to go to bed earlier a regime to which I am sticking determinedly. In a way, I was prepared for this. I first encountered Walker some months ago, when he spoke at an event at Somerset House in London, and he struck me then as both passionate and convincing (our later interview takes place via Skype from the basement of his sleep centre, a spot which, with its bedrooms off a long corridor, apparently resembles the ward of a private hospital). But in another way, it was unexpected. I am mostly immune to health advice. Inside my head, there is always a voice that says just enjoy life while it lasts.

The evidence Walker presents, however, is enough to send anyone early to bed. Its no kind of choice at all. Without sleep, there is low energy and disease. With sleep, there is vitality and health. More than 20 large scale epidemiological studies all report the same clear relationship: the shorter your sleep, the shorter your life. To take just one example, adults aged 45 years or older who sleep less than six hours a night are 200% more likely to have a heart attack or stroke in their lifetime, as compared with those sleeping seven or eight hours a night (part of the reason for this has to do with blood pressure: even just one night of modest sleep reduction will speed the rate of a persons heart, hour upon hour, and significantly increase their blood pressure).

A lack of sleep also appears to hijack the bodys effective control of blood sugar, the cells of the sleep-deprived appearing, in experiments, to become less responsive to insulin, and thus to cause a prediabetic state of hyperglycaemia. When your sleep becomes short, moreover, you are susceptible to weight gain. Among the reasons for this are the fact that inadequate sleep decreases levels of the satiety-signalling hormone, leptin, and increases levels of the hunger-signalling hormone, ghrelin. Im not going to say that the obesity crisis is caused by the sleep-loss epidemic alone, says Walker. Its not. However, processed food and sedentary lifestyles do not adequately explain its rise. Something is missing. Its now clear that sleep is that third ingredient. Tiredness, of course, also affects motivation.

Sleep has a powerful effect on the immune system, which is why, when we have flu, our first instinct is to go to bed: our body is trying to sleep itself well. Reduce sleep even for a single night, and your resilience is drastically reduced. If you are tired, you are more likely to catch a cold. The well-rested also respond better to the flu vaccine. As Walker has already said, more gravely, studies show that short sleep can affect our cancer-fighting immune cells. A number of epidemiological studies have reported that night-time shift work and the disruption to circadian sleep and rhythms that it causes increase the odds of developing cancers including breast, prostate, endometrium and colon.

Getting too little sleep across the adult lifespan will significantly raise your risk of developing Alzheimers disease. The reasons for this are difficult to summarise, but in essence it has to do with the amyloid deposits (a toxin protein) that accumulate in the brains of those suffering from the disease, killing the surrounding cells. During deep sleep, such deposits are effectively cleaned from the brain. What occurs in an Alzheimers patient is a kind of vicious circle. Without sufficient sleep, these plaques build up, especially in the brains deep-sleep-generating regions, attacking and degrading them. The loss of deep sleep caused by this assault therefore lessens our ability to remove them from the brain at night. More amyloid, less deep sleep; less deep sleep, more amyloid, and so on. (In his book, Walker notes unscientifically that he has always found it curious that Margaret Thatcher and Ronald Reagan, both of whom were vocal about how little sleep they needed, both went on to develop the disease; it is, moreover, a myth that older adults need less sleep.) Away from dementia, sleep aids our ability to make new memories, and restores our capacity for learning.

And then there is sleeps effect on mental health. When your mother told you that everything would look better in the morning, she was wise. Walkers book includes a long section on dreams (which, says Walker, contrary to Dr Freud, cannot be analysed). Here he details the various ways in which the dream state connects to creativity. He also suggests that dreaming is a soothing balm. If we sleep to remember (see above), then we also sleep to forget. Deep sleep the part when we begin to dream is a therapeutic state during which we cast off the emotional charge of our experiences, making them easier to bear. Sleep, or a lack of it, also affects our mood more generally. Brain scans carried out by Walker revealed a 60% amplification in the reactivity of the amygdala a key spot for triggering anger and rage in those who were sleep-deprived. In children, sleeplessness has been linked to aggression and bullying; in adolescents, to suicidal thoughts. Insufficient sleep is also associated with relapse in addiction disorders. A prevailing view in psychiatry is that mental disorders cause sleep disruption. But Walker believes it is, in fact, a two-way street. Regulated sleep can improve the health of, for instance, those with bipolar disorder.

Ive mentioned deep sleep in this (too brief) summary several times. What is it, exactly? We sleep in 90-minute cycles, and its only towards the end of each one of these that we go into deep sleep. Each cycle comprises two kinds of sleep. First, there is NREM sleep (non-rapid eye movement sleep); this is then followed by REM (rapid eye movement) sleep. When Walker talks about these cycles, which still have their mysteries, his voice changes. He sounds bewitched, almost dazed.

During NREM sleep, your brain goes into this incredible synchronised pattern of rhythmic chanting, he says. Theres a remarkable unity across the surface of the brain, like a deep, slow mantra. Researchers were once fooled that this state was similar to a coma. But nothing could be further from the truth. Vast amounts of memory processing is going on. To produce these brainwaves, hundreds of thousands of cells all sing together, and then go silent, and on and on. Meanwhile, your body settles into this lovely low state of energy, the best blood-pressure medicine you could ever hope for. REM sleep, on the other hand, is sometimes known as paradoxical sleep, because the brain patterns are identical to when youre awake. Its an incredibly active brain state. Your heart and nervous system go through spurts of activity: were still not exactly sure why.

Does the 90-minute cycle mean that so-called power naps are worthless? They can take the edge off basic sleepiness. But you need 90 minutes to get to deep sleep, and one cycle isnt enough to do all the work. You need four or five cycles to get all the benefit. Is it possible to have too much sleep? This is unclear. There is no good evidence at the moment. But I do think 14 hours is too much. Too much water can kill you, and too much food, and I think ultimately the same will prove to be true for sleep. How is it possible to tell if a person is sleep-deprived? Walker thinks we should trust our instincts. Those who would sleep on if their alarm clock was turned off are simply not getting enough. Ditto those who need caffeine in the afternoon to stay awake. I see it all the time, he says. I get on a flight at 10am when people should be at peak alert, and I look around, and half of the plane has immediately fallen asleep.

So what can the individual do? First, they should avoid pulling all-nighters, at their desks or on the dancefloor. After being awake for 19 hours, youre as cognitively impaired as someone who is drunk. Second, they should start thinking about sleep as a kind of work, like going to the gym (with the key difference that it is both free and, if youre me, enjoyable). People use alarms to wake up, Walker says. So why dont we have a bedtime alarm to tell us weve got half an hour, that we should start cycling down? We should start thinking of midnight more in terms of its original meaning: as the middle of the night. Schools should consider later starts for students; such delays correlate with improved IQs. Companies should think about rewarding sleep. Productivity will rise, and motivation, creativity and even levels of honesty will be improved. Sleep can be measured using tracking devices, and some far-sighted companies in the US already give employees time off if they clock enough of it. Sleeping pills, by the way, are to be avoided. Among other things, they can have a deleterious effect on memory.

Those who are focused on so-called clean sleep are determined to outlaw mobiles and computers from the bedroom and quite right, too, given the effect of LED-emitting devices on melatonin, the sleep-inducing hormone. Ultimately, though, Walker believes that technology will be sleeps saviour. There is going to be a revolution in the quantified self in industrial nations, he says. We will know everything about our bodies from one day to the next in high fidelity. That will be a seismic shift, and we will then start to develop methods by which we can amplify different components of human sleep, and do that from the bedside. Sleep will come to be seen as a preventive medicine.

What questions does Walker still most want to answer? For a while, he is quiet. Its so difficult, he says, with a sigh. There are so many. I would still like to know where we go, psychologically and physiologically, when we dream. Dreaming is the second state of human consciousness, and we have only scratched the surface so far. But I would also like to find out when sleep emerged. I like to posit a ridiculous theory, which is: perhaps sleep did not evolve. Perhaps it was the thing from which wakefulness emerged. He laughs. If I could have some kind of medical Tardis and go back in time to look at that, well, I would sleep better at night.

Why We Sleep: The New Science of Sleep and Dreamsby Matthew Walker is published by Allen Lane (20). To order a copy for 17 go toguardianbookshop.com or call 0330 333 6846. Free UK p&p over 10, online orders only. Phone orders min p&p of 1.99

Sleep in numbers

Two-thirds of adults in developed nations fail to obtain the nightly eight hours of sleep recommended by the World Health Organisation.

An adult sleeping only 6.75 hours a night would be predicted to live only to their early 60s without medical intervention.

A 2013 study reported that men who slept too little had a sperm count 29% lower than those who regularly get a full and restful nights sleep.

If you drive a car when you have had less than five hours sleep, you are 4.3 times more likely to be involved in a crash. If you drive having had four hours, you are 11.5 times more likely to be involved in an accident.

A hot bath aids sleep not because it makes you warm, but because your dilated blood vessels radiate inner heat, and your core body temperature drops. To successfully initiate sleep, your core temperature needs to drop about 1C.

The time taken to reach physical exhaustion by athletes who obtain anything less than eight hours of sleep, and especially less than six hours, drops by 10-30%.

There are now more than 100 diagnosed sleep disorders, of which insomnia is the mostcommon.

Morning types, who prefer to awake at or around dawn, make up about 40% of the population. Evening types, who prefer to go to bed late and wake up late, account for about 30%. The remaining 30% lie somewhere in between.

Read more: https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2017/sep/24/why-lack-of-sleep-health-worst-enemy-matthew-walker-why-we-sleep

Sana Health aims to stop insomnia with smart goggles

When Solar Impulse pilot Bertrand Piccard set out to fly around the worldin a plane that uses no fuel, he knew he wasnt going to get much rest. During the journey, he would be able to sleep, at a maximum, threehours per day with rest meted out in twenty-minute intervals. The plane, which could only accommodate one aviator, required a human systems check every twenty minutes.

For part of the journey, Piccard used Sana Health technology to put him to sleep in flight, and to sleep as deeply as possible during those scant moments.

TheSana Sleepsmart goggles, will be available to the too-tired public starting in the second quarter of 2018, according to Sana Health founder and CEO Richard Hanbury. The companyrecently closed a $1.3 million round of seed funding from Founders Fund, Maveron and SOSV, among others. The goggles will sell for about $400 a pair, Hanbury said.

The entrepreneur began working on this technology as a solution to his own chronic pain and related sleep issues. He suffered from chronic nerve damage pain, after surviving a disabling Jeep accident in Yemen in 1992. However, the technology has broad-based appeal.Not including defiant toddlers, everyone wants a good nights rest.

Sana Health founder and CEO Richard Hanbury.

Still,one in three adults in the U.S. doesnt get enough sleep, according to the most recent available data from the CDC. Insomniacs suffer mood and memory impairments, among other undesirable corollaries, researchers from the University of Pittsburgh School of Medicine have verified.

Sniffing a major market opportunity in the restless masses, a number of tech companies have begun trying to allay insomnia in recent years. Theyre making mattresses of novel materials, a wide variety ofwearables, sleep tracking apps and other IoT devicesto encourage better sleep.

Venture investors are falling for the promise of a good nights rest, too. According to deal tracker Crunchbase (which is owned by TechCrunchs parent company) at least 30 sleep-related tech startups, including 6 hardware companies, landed seed or venture rounds since the start of last year.

For its part, the Sana Sleep looks like padded goggles, or a pared down and comfy version of a VR headset. It is being tested currently with athletes in training who want the most restorative sleep they can get while traveling extensively.

Hanbury explained this is how the device works: It uses audio-visual stimulation to trigger specific patterns in the brain. In the same way that when you go into a nightclub, and hear fast music and see strobed lights, this produces an excited state in your brain, this device produces the patterns your brain needs in order to produce deep states of relaxation.

The gogglesemit pulses of light and sound. The wearer is conscious of the lights and sounds at the outset of each use, but becomes less aware of theseas they drift off to sleep. The gogglesmeasure things like a userss pulse and breathing, and customizes the signals in response totheindividualsbiometrics.

The goggles must be trained, initially. After about 4 uses wearers (even those dealing with chronic pain issues) can getto sleep within ten minutes, and more importantly can sleep through the night.

Prior to closing their seed round, Sana Health had raised $450,000 including from the HAX hardware accelerator run by SOSV. The firm reupped its investment in Sanas seed round, according to General Partner Cyril Ebersweiler, because its technology solves the hardest sleep cases.

Sana is based on 24 years of sleep research and has gone through extensive subject trials. While bringing continuous improvement to the experience, the company will need to now spend some time understanding which distribution channels are the most adapted for its offering, he said.

The efficacy of the companys goggles in early tests have led Sana Health to pursue a classification as a medical device from the FDA in the US.

Read more: https://techcrunch.com/2017/05/26/sana-health-raises-1-3-million-to-hack-insomnia-with-smart-goggles/

6 Ways to Sleep Better and Avoid Jet Lag on the Road

Diana Kelly, Life by Daily Burn

Whether youre a frequent business traveler, weekend adventurer, or find yourself away from home just once a year, its not easy to get your best nights sleep when youre not in your own bed. And if youre in a different time zone, forget it. To help you catch more zzzs so you can make the most of your waking time, here are tried-and-true tips from frequent travelers and sleep experts to set you up for slumber success.

How to Sleep Better and Skip the Jet Lag

1. Adjust to your new time zone before you arrive.

Jet lag tends to worsen with the number of time zones you cross, so pre-planning your sleep schedule is crucial, says Gary K. Zammit, PhD, executive director at the Sleep Disorders Institute in Manhattan. Try to get in sync with your new time zone as soon as possible.

RELATED: 7 Reasons to Take Every Last Vacation Day This Year

I get the best nights sleep when I adjust my body clock to the time zone of my destination a few days prior to traveling, says Bob Jacobs, vice president of brand management for Westin. If Im traveling West in a few days after being on the East coast, Ill stay up an hour or so later at night. And if Im going to the East coast after being out West, Ill start getting up a bit earlier each day. Then, keep your dozing schedule as stable as possible in your new destination. Dimming your lights in the evening hours and opening shades for some bright light exposure in the early a.m. may also help, Zammit says.

2. Pack smart.

Make your destination feel like home to minimize the impact of sleeping in an unfamiliar environment, suggests Zammit. Bring your favorite pajamas and pack your pillow or pillowcase, too. Still cant unwind? Consider picking up a lavender-scented essential oil to spritz at night or to dab on your pillow. Research has found that lavender may have a positive effect on insomnia and depression.

For business traveler Christina Lampe, packing for maximum hotel room comfort is her number one priority. You never know how loud, bright, warm or cold a hotel room will be until you get there, she says. I always bring a blackout eye mask, earplugs or noise-canceling headphones, and two types of pajamas in case my room is too hot or too cold. I find that I sleep better when I control the environment to make it feel like it does at home, she says.

3. Stick to your usual routine.

Whether I arrive at my hotel at noon or midnight, I keep my routine consistent so I feel settled and ready, says Chelsea Kay Jones, of Forest Lake, Minn. Jones has worked as a Delta flight attendant for six years. I iron and hang up my uniform for the next day, unpack my toiletries and lay them out by the sink, set up my hair products and makeup for the next day, then put anything back in my suitcase I wont be needing. Sticking to your usual before-bed ritualslike readingcan help you feel more comfortable, too.

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RELATED: Can Changing Time Zones Affect Your Health?

4. Get moving.

Being active during the day and avoiding naps is helpful for most people, especially if you can get outside and benefit from light exposure, says Zammit. Taking a quick shower in his hotel room, then putting on fresh clothes and going outside helps James Shillinglaw, Editor-in-Chief of TravAlliance Media, adjust to his new environment and time zone. Going for a quick run when he arrives at his destination also keeps his energy levels high throughout the day, and enables him to fall asleep faster and sleep more soundly that night.

5. Be mindful of your travel diet.

Try not to fall into vacation eating mode, chowing down on heavy, greasy foods, suggests Jones. If youre hungry, have a light snack before bed and make sure the snack doesnt contain caffeine or chocolate, which can keep you up at night, says Zammit. Beware of foods and drinks that might cause acid reflux, like orange juice, tomato juice or spicy foods. Instead, nosh on something simple and light, like cereal and milk or applesauce. If youve got a few hours before bed, eating high-glycemic carbs (like pasta or pretzels) may also help you fall asleep faster, according to research.

RELATED: 10 Unexpected Things That Can Ruin Your Sleep

Take a hard look at your drinking habits, too. Since shes constantly going from dehydrating airplanes to hotels rooms that tend to circulate dry air, Jones says she drinks a ton of water on travel days and skips caffeinated drinks later in the day so they dont hamper her slumber.

6. Get up if you cant fall asleep.

If I wake up in the middle of the night, I get up and do something, like read or watch TV, says Shillinglaw. I try not to just lie there when I find myself awake. I get out of bed, do something productive, and then go back to sleep in an hour. Most experts agree that if you wake up and cant fall back asleep within 15 to 20 minutes, you should get out of bed and do something else. Youll drift off again later, and your body will thank you the next day.

Want more tips to avoid jet leg keeping it au natural? Check out this handy infographic from the team at Expedia.

Read more: http://www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2016/12/12/6-ways-to-sleep-better-and-avoid-jet-lag-on-the-road.html