I sometimes have trouble sleeping. I’m blaming lack of sleep for all my bad decisions, and often for forgetting my purse. I need every excuse I can get.

Last spring, I finally decided to try the natural sleep supplement Melatonin. Whoa, that’s good! If I needed some help to Slumbertown, 20 minutes after a Melatonin gummy, I was on the path. Zonk. Occasionally I needed two. But it wasn’t until a two-fer night that I finally read the directions. “Thirty minutes before bedtime, take two supplements and allow them to slowly dissolve.” Two Melatonins? The recommended dosage? Wow. The future of my sleepless nights was well in hand.

Then last week the New York Times reported a connection between Melatonin and heart disease. Supposedly over-usage yields problems. Since I am not overusing, I’m going to wait until there is more information. I don’t need help every night. Funniest thing – turns out the harder I work during the day, the less help I need getting to sleep. Imagine that!

In my young student life and early working life, I could go sleepless for many hours – a few days if I had to. I was a night creature. When I finally crashed, I’d catch up with 12 or 14 hours sleep. But being able to wake up quickly also became part of my routine. Instantly awake and available. That came in handy as a young mother. And forty years later, as I settled into my last job, it became surprisingly necessary.

Although the job description was daunting, when I signed on as Executive Director of the historic Struthers Library Theatre, it never occurred to me to think of lost sleep or quick response time. Simply put, they asked, “We’ll need you to raise over $1 million your first year. In the meantime, learn the entire 45,000 square foot building. We need to know how much investment is going to be needed to bring the 1883 theatre, and systems, up to snuff.” Cost, time frame, income, programming, rentals, contracts, fund raising, concerts, movies, road shows, etc., etc. Just a few considerations. I was always braver than I was smart.

That first winter, I needed my sleep but also my instant wakeup ability. Since my job meant that “the buck stopped here,” I took my phone to my nightstand every evening as I read myself to sleep.

The first time it happened was 2:17 a.m. I caught the phone on the first ring. “This is the security system in Buffalo. You have an alarm ringing at the theater at 302 Third Ave.” Instantly awake, I was vertical and climbing into slippers as she spoke. Grateful I was wearing jammies, not a nightie, I grabbed a raincoat and car keys heading out the front door. Roaring down Conewango Avenue at a highly illegal speed, I arrived at the theatre 2.2 miles away, parked, and entered my office backdoor. Not knowing what to expect, I turned on every light as I entered the main part of the house. No smell. Nuthin’. Shaking, I approached the alarm system and somehow managed to remember the shut-down lesson.

I headed to the Lobby, nuthin’. Bathrooms, ticket office, nuthin’. Mezzanine, more bathrooms, nuthin’. On upstairs into the vast Library Room, checking the kitchen, the library stacks, more bathrooms. Running as fast as I could, up another flight of stairs to the projection room, the rehearsal hall, and the old Masonic dining room, I still came up empty-handed. I thought about the creepy attic – for only a second. With only footers for walking and no lighting. I opened the door and smelled nothing – which became instantly good enough.

Racing back downstairs, I headed for the stage, the entrances and the three floors of dressing rooms. After finally checking the catwalk, all three basements, and all 21 bathrooms, I returned to my office and collapsed. Fifteen minutes later, I realized I hadn’t shut off every light. I never did that again.

I was proud that I handled it. It happened a few times a year, but never without that wild rush. Eventually, I arrived a few times to find the Warren Fire Department already in the lobby in turnout uniforms. The firehouse is a few hundred feet from the theatre. They had received a specific fire warning, although false. When I asked how they got the fire call, they stated those were the ONLY ones they received. That changed my life.

The next 3 a.m. call, I asked if it was an alarm or a fire alarm. The security lady said it was third floor, no fire. And no possibility of a break-in at 135 feet high. That night changed my sleeping life.

I continued to answer those Buffalo calls, asked two questions, and rolled over to Lala land. By my middle 70’s, I wasn’t breaking the 4-minute land/speed record anymore.

Adrenaline high followed by Melatonin? Back then? I don’t think that would have worked. So glad those days are over.

Marcy O’Brien sleeps in Warren, Pennsylvania.