The bowling ball on my chest is always heaviest at 3 a.m. Its steady pressure pushes me out of sleep most mornings before the sun rises on either coast. I could set my alarm by it, but I don’t need to. Wherever I wake up—in hotel rooms, at friends’ houses, or in the home I share with my husband—the bowling ball is there, in the pocket right between my ribs and a little bit north of my stomach. [time-brightcove not-tgx=”true”] When the weight wakes me up in the morning, it’s never for a good reason.