The problem with hibernation is being so hungry when you wake up! The bears never tell you this. Of course they wouldn’t, would they, because they’re still living off the fat they stored up by overeating beforehand. So they can just nibble at their leisure on spring berries and tender shoots and whatever. Hunger isn’t really their problem.
But I’m ravenous! Unlike the tempting freshness of new growth after the spring snow melt, my fridge is entirely empty. Awaking to the smell of rotting vegetables and cold cuts is a mistake you only make once! So now you need to go out for your first post-hibernation meal. If I can even remember where to go in my deprived mental state.
And that’s another problem with hibernation—memory. Three solid months of sleep plays hell with your short-term memory! Or maybe by then it’s long-term, you think? I mean, it takes time just to remember who you are and where you are and why everything smells funny. Trying to remember what you’re supposed to be doing now that hibernation is over is another thing the bears don’t tell you. But they wouldn’t, you see, because they have instincts that guide them and we don’t. At least I don’t. And besides, there’s not a lot that they need to be doing, anyway. They don’t even have to take a very long shower and shave off a lot of beard and get a haircut.
After three months, the bears haven’t missed much, but I’ve missed a lot that I need to catch up on, and that’s a third problem with hibernation. There’s a pile of bills I need to pay, and junk mail to sort through, and emails to delete, and halfway through I try very hard to remember whose idea it was to hibernate in the first place and whether it was worth it.
Maybe I should explain. The initial concept of human hibernation followed the developing technology, which was proven up about ten years ago. Four years back, a dozen of us somewhat idiotically volunteered to be the first to test drive it. The pay was decent enough over the three winters of the experiment, and our three-month expenses were paid each year by Hibernation, Inc.
Actually, it was Sally who suggested it. “Give it a try, Ernie,” my girlfriend nudged me. “We can use the money.” She reminded me that I never do much during those three winter months, anyway. So, I slept in an aluminum pod that had its own power and oxygen and an IV feed that kept me full of required nutrients and put me in a state of suspension. “Which you’re already familiar with,” Sally reminded me in an encouraging voice. I felt like a cheap cigar.
My initial hibernation went well, at least medically. Except for the toenails. That’s a fourth problem with hibernation: things continue to grow—hair, beard, nails. Particularly toenails! I practically had claws! I don’t think bears have this problem, do they?
When I woke up after the second winter’s suspension, not only was my short-term memory gone, Sally was gone, as well. I should have seen it coming. You could tell, couldn’t you? We’re still good friends, and all that, but it just wasn’t working out and after a year I think we both realized it. I suppose our first year together was a test drive. Like the hibernation. It was probably why she encouraged it – a three-month trial separation. It may be why I volunteered.
You’re probably wondering, after that second winter when Sally left, why I continued with the third. Well, of course, I did have a contract for the entire three-year trial. But, to tell the truth, I was becoming accustomed to it. I really wanted the Lab to let me continue after this past winter, but they said it was just too expensive.
So, now I’m looking for a job that will pay me a full year to work just nine months and allow me to hibernate for three. Maybe a government job? If you hear of any openings, please do let me know.
That’s another problem hibernating bears don’t have.
