Martha’s Health Diary Facebook ad: “It Might Not Be Your Memory. Find Out What it Truly Is”

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My husband sleeps ten hours a night now. He is more tired than he was working sixty hour weeks on a line crew. I need you to sit with that for a second, because I could not make it make sense for two years. He's in bed by nine. He's asleep before I've finished a page. He doesn't surface until seven, sometimes later, and there are mornings I go in and check on him. And he still cannot get through a Wednesday afternoon without lying down. The first thing it took was his alarm clock. Ray has set that alarm for 4:40 in the morning for as long as I've known him, and I've known him since 1981. 4:40 because the fish move at first light, and because he'd rather be on the water at sunrise than anywhere else on earth. Then one night in March I was reading and I looked over and he was already asleep, and the little red light on the clock wasn't on. I said, "You're not going out tomorrow?" He said, "Nah. Maybe next weekend." There were about nine next weekends. He never did say why. He's not a man who says anything. I want to tell you about my husband. His name is Ray, he's 68, and we live outside Bowling Green in a house he did most of the wiring in himself. He was a lineman for thirty-four years. He retired at 64 with a bad shoulder and a very good pension and a list, on actual paper, of everything he was finally going to do. He has hands like catcher's mitts and a laugh you can hear from the driveway. The tiredness came on so gradually that there was never a day I could point to. It just kept taking things. First it took the alarm. Then it took the lawn. Ray mowed his own lawn for thirty-one years and had opinions about how other men did theirs, and last spring he hired the Kessler boy from down the street to do it, and told me it was because of his shoulder. It wasn't his shoulder. Then it took Tuesday breakfast. Four men, the same booth at the diner on Scottsville Road, every Tuesday since 2009. He started skipping. Then he started skipping more than he went. Then Denny stopped calling to see if he was coming, which I think is the part that hurt him most, though he'd never say so. Then it took the floor. Our grandson Cole is six. Ray used to get down on the rug and build things with him and let that boy climb all over him like he was playground equipment. In June he got down on the floor with Cole and then he couldn't get himself back up without holding the coffee table, and he laughed about it, and Cole laughed, and I laughed. He hasn't gotten down on that floor since. We did go to the doctor. I want to say that, because I know how this sounds. We went in July and they ran everything. Thyroid. B12. Iron. Sugar. The whole panel, twice, because I asked them to run it again. It all came back normal. The doctor was kind about it. He wasn't dismissive. He looked at the numbers and he looked at Ray and he said, "There's nothing wrong with you, Ray. This is just what sixty-eight feels like for a lot of men." Nothing wrong with you. This is just what it feels like now. I have turned that sentence over in my head more times than I can count. Because I wanted something to be wrong. I know how that sounds. I'm not proud of it. But something being wrong would have meant something could be fixed, and instead we walked out to the truck with a clean bill of health and a husband who couldn't stay awake through a ballgame. We tried what you try. He went to bed at nine for four months and slept nine and ten hours a night and woke up feeling exactly the way he did on six. He drank more coffee, and then more, until his blood pressure medication meant he had to cut it back down, so we lost even that. I bought him a B12 that cost thirty-five dollars a bottle because a woman at church swore by it. I bought him iron. Twenty dollars. I bought a canister of some orange energy powder for fifty dollars that a man at the marina recommended, and it gave him about ninety minutes and then put him further underneath than he'd started. We joined the Y in January like the whole country does. Fifty-nine dollars a month. He went eleven times. Not because he's lazy. Ray is the least lazy man I have ever met. He went, and did very little, and then lost the entire rest of the day to it, and after eleven times he understood he was trading a walk on a treadmill for an entire afternoon, and it wasn't a trade he could keep making. I added it up once, sitting at this table. Better than three thousand dollars across two years. And in October I went out to the driveway to get something out of my car and I stood there and looked at the boat. It's a sixteen-foot Lund on a trailer and it has been in that driveway since 2011 and it has a green tarp over it. The tarp had leaves on it. Not covered in leaves. Just enough that I could tell nobody had touched it in a long time. I pulled the corner of it back and there were leaves inside the boat too, down in the bottom by the seats, and a paper wasp nest starting up under the gunwale. I stood in my own driveway at eleven o'clock in the morning and cried until my chest hurt. Because I finally understood what I'd been looking at for two years. It wasn't the shoulder. It wasn't his age. It wasn't laziness and it was not a bad attitude. My husband was quietly withdrawing from his own life, one thing at a time, and doing it so slowly that nobody, including me, had said a word about it. The alarm was first. The lawn was second. Tuesday breakfast was third. The floor was fourth. And I did not know what the fifth thing was going to be. But I knew there was going to be one. That night, after Ray fell asleep in the recliner, I called our daughter. Steph is thirty-nine. She's a school nurse in Lexington, and she is the most level-headed person in this family by a wide margin. She does not fall for things. She has never once forwarded me an article. I told her about the leaves in the boat. She was quiet for a long time. Then she said, "Mom, I'm coming Saturday. There's something I want to talk to you about." She came Saturday afternoon and I made a pot roast, and the three of us ate at the kitchen table, and Ray was in the recliner asleep by six thirty. Steph and I stayed at the table with the coffee. Then she reached into her bag and set a jar down between us and slid it across. She said, "Mom, I need you to actually listen to me for a minute." I said okay. She said, "I've been watching Dad since Easter. I didn't say anything because I kept thinking it would turn around." "It hasn't." "And I don't think anybody has ever explained to you what's actually going on, because I don't think anybody explained it to me either until about four months ago." Then she picked up a napkin. She drew a little battery on it. The rectangle with the bump on the end, the way a kid draws one. She said, "This is Dad at forty." She filled it all the way in. Then she drew another battery next to it, but she drew it smaller. Maybe half the size. She filled that one in all the way too. She said, "This is Dad now. Look at it. It's full. It's a hundred percent. He's sleeping ten hours a night and he is charging all the way to full every single night." "The problem isn't the charge, Mom. It's the size of the thing you're charging." And I sat there at my own kitchen table and felt something turn over. She said, "Think about a phone that's four years old. You plug it in all night. It says one hundred percent at breakfast. It's dead by two. Nothing is wrong with the charger. Nothing is wrong with the outlet. Nobody did anything wrong. The battery just doesn't hold what it used to hold." She said, "Your cells are what produce your energy. Not sleep. Sleep is the charger. The cells are the battery. And that capacity comes down as you get older, and there is no blood test on that panel they ran that measures it." That was the part that got me. "There's no test for it." That's why the bloodwork came back normal. That's why the doctor said there's nothing wrong with you and meant it, and was right, and it still didn't help us at all. Nothing was broken. The capacity was just smaller, and nobody had ever once said that word to us in two years. I asked her, "Then why did none of it work?" She said, "Because every single thing you tried was aimed at the charger." More sleep was the charger. Coffee wasn't even the charger. Coffee was borrowing against the afternoon and paying it back with interest, which is exactly why the fourth cup made him worse. The B12 and the iron would have helped enormously if he'd been low, and he wasn't low, so they did nothing at all. And the Y was asking a battery that couldn't hold a charge to hold more of one, which is precisely why eleven visits nearly finished him. Two years. Three thousand dollars. And we had been standing at the wall plugging the same thing in over and over. Then she slid the jar the rest of the way to me. I said, "Steph, I'm not buying him another vitamin." She said, "It isn't a vitamin. It's cordyceps." She said it's a mushroom, and that herders in the Himalayas have used it for stamina for a very long time, and that what it works on is the cells that actually produce your energy. The battery side. Not the charger side. I said, "So it's a mushroom pill." She said, "It's eight of them, actually. But cordyceps is the one that matters for what's happening to Dad." She said there's reishi in it too, which is the calming one, and a handful of others in there for immune support and general wear and tear that she said she wasn't going to bore me with because they weren't the point. Then she said, "And there's ashwagandha. The KSM-66 kind, which is the one that's actually been studied instead of whatever's cheapest." I asked her what that one was for. She tapped the napkin. The two batteries. She said, "Mom, look at your own drawing. The cordyceps is for the battery. The ashwagandha and the reishi are for the charger, because he's been running wound up for two years and that's the other half of it." "This is the first thing I've found that does both ends at once." Then she said, "I'm not promising you anything. I want to be really clear about that. I'm asking you to try the only thing either of us has found that's aimed at the right half of the problem." I turned that jar over in my hands for a long time. She told me what to look for, because she'd looked. Fruiting body, not the cheap filler that most of the shelf is made out of. Third party tested, so somebody independent has confirmed what's actually in the jar. And enough of it per serving to matter. That's how we ended up with OmniMax Labs. Eight mushrooms, fruiting body, third party tested, 2,500 milligrams a serving, with the KSM-66 ashwagandha in it. And gummies, which I want to mention, because Ray takes three prescriptions every morning and he was not going to start swallowing a fourth thing. I know that sounds like a small detail. It is not a small detail. It's the reason he actually took them. So that Monday morning I put two next to his coffee. He looked at them. Then he looked at me. Then he gave me that little smile he gives when he thinks I'm worrying. He said, "Carol, I don't think a gummy bear is going to fix my back." I said, "It's not for your back. And it's two months. Will you give me two months?" He looked at me for a second. Then he picked them up. Here's what happened over the next couple of months, and I want to be careful about this part. The first week, nothing. Not a thing. I asked him every morning how he felt and he'd shrug and say the same. The second week, nothing either, and I'll be honest with you, I had already decided in my head that this was the sixth thing that hadn't worked and I was going to have to let it go. The third week he came in from the garage on a Wednesday afternoon and started talking to me about the gutters. I said, "You didn't lie down." He stopped. He genuinely had to think about it. He said, "Huh." That's the whole thing that happened. He said huh. I didn't make anything of it out loud because I didn't want to jinx it and I didn't want to be wrong in front of him. Week four he said something I've thought about a lot since. He said, "I don't feel like I'm wading through it." Week five was bad. Three days flat, worse than before we started, and I spent that entire week deciding I'd imagined weeks three and four and feeling like a fool for the eighty dollars. I'm telling you about week five because it happened and because I nearly threw the jar out. Week six I woke up at 4:40 in the morning to the alarm going off. I lay there in the dark listening to him get up in the bathroom and I did not move and I did not say anything. I heard the coffee maker. I heard the screen door. I heard the truck. He came back a little after eleven with two channel cat and his color back and he stood in the kitchen and said, "Water was flat as glass." I said, "That's good." He said, "It's just an alarm clock, Carol." I said, "No it isn't." Then it started coming back in the same order it left. Week eight the Kessler boy came by on a Saturday and Ray met him in the driveway and told him, real apologetic, that he thought he'd take the lawn back for a while. He cut it in the wrong direction on purpose so you could see the stripes from the road. He's done that for thirty-one years and I hadn't seen it in two. A couple weeks after that I heard him on the phone with Denny, and on Tuesday morning he was gone by six thirty. He came home with nothing to report except a story about somebody's transmission and I listened to every word of it. Not because the story was interesting. Because it sounded like him. And two Sundays ago Cole was over and I came around the corner from the kitchen and Ray was down on the rug with him, on his side, with about four hundred pieces of something spread out in front of them. I stood in the doorway and I didn't say a word. I'm sitting at this table writing this and the boat trailer isn't in the driveway. He left at ten of five. I want to be straight with you about what I'm not saying. I'm not telling you he's forty again. He isn't. He's sixty-eight and he's still tired and he went to bed at half past eight on Tuesday and he'll probably do it again this week. I'm not telling you this is a miracle, because it isn't one, and anybody who tells you a jar of gummies is a miracle is lying to you. And I honestly don't know for certain what did it. He lost most of the coffee at nearly the same time, and once he was fishing again he was moving more than he had been in two years, and it's entirely possible some of it is just a good stretch, because we've had good stretches before and then lost them. I'll know more at six months. I would very much like to know more at a year. What I can tell you is that somewhere in there he stopped withdrawing. He set the alarm. He took his lawn back. He went to breakfast. He got down on the floor. And I got my husband back in more or less the order I lost him. He said something to me a few weeks ago while we were watching the news. He said, "I didn't really notice how much I'd quit doing." I said, "I know." I didn't tell him I'd been keeping the list. If you're reading this and you're watching somebody quietly hand pieces of their life back one at a time, or if you're the one doing it and you've started scheduling everything before noon and driving yourself places so you can leave early, I'd like you to at least know about the difference between the charger and the battery. Because nobody told us for two years, and I don't know why not. What Ray takes is two OmniMax Labs gummies in the morning with his coffee. Eight mushrooms with the cordyceps leading it, fruiting body, third party tested, 2,500 milligrams a serving, and the KSM-66 ashwagandha for the wound-up half of it. That's the whole routine. It takes him about four seconds and he does it standing at the counter. They run it as bundles, which I'd tell you to pay attention to, because two months is longer than one jar. Buy two and the third one is free. Buy three and you get two free, which is the one we take now, because we're not going back and I'd rather not think about it again until spring. And if you put it on subscription it's thirty percent off, which took me about a minute to set up and which I can cancel any time I want. I checked that part first, because I don't like being locked into things and I assume you don't either. There's a sixty day money back guarantee on it. No questions asked, and you don't even have to mail anything back, which I read twice because I didn't believe it. Sixty days is the part I want you to actually hear. Because our alarm clock went off in week six. That is well inside it. That is exactly what the sixty days is for. The worst thing that happens is you ask for your money back and keep the jar. The best thing that happens is you hear an alarm clock go off at 4:40 in the morning and lie there in the dark trying not to cry about it. → https://omnimaxlabs.com/products/omnimax-labs-organic-mushroom-gummies P.S. Steph came for dinner two weekends ago. Ray was out back scrubbing the leaves out of the bottom of the boat with a deck brush. She stood at the kitchen window next to me and watched him for a minute and said, "Mom. Dad's back." I said, "I know." We stood there a while longer. He was whistling. He has always whistled and I hadn't heard it since I don't know when. P.P.S. I checked two things before I spent a dollar, which is the sort of person I am. Ray says I'm impossible about it. I found the third party test results, which took about ten minutes. And I read the guarantee twice, because I did not believe the part about not having to send anything back. You don't. After two years and better than three thousand dollars with nothing to show for it, I was not handing money over and hoping. Go and check both yourself before you buy anything from anybody, including them. P.P.P.S. I want to say one more thing to whoever needs it. For us it started with the alarm clock. Then the lawn. Then Tuesday breakfast. Then the floor with our grandson. Nobody announces any of it. Nobody sits you down and tells you they're giving something up. They just stop, and you don't notice for a year, and then one morning you're standing in your driveway looking at leaves in a boat. Don't wait until you're the one counting. I almost waited too long, and the only reason I didn't is that a green tarp had leaves on it and I happened to look.

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