Safety of New Drugs to Stay Alert

As the father of a two-year-old, I live in a constant haze of sleep deprivation. I decided to conduct my own unscientific, weeklong trial of Provigil. Could it recast a grouchy father into Superdad? I persuaded my doctor (no, you can't have his number) to prescribe me a week's supply: seven 200-milligram pills. Here is the diary that I kept:

Day 1, Monday
6:45 a.m. Awakened by my daughter after the usual six-and-a-half hours.

7 a.m. I open the bottle. The pills are monstrous. I start to chicken out. I've never smoked pot, much less taken cocaine or amphetamines. I decide to halve the dosage. When I cut the first pill with my pocketknife, half shoots off my bureau, slides across the floor, and disappears under a dresser. I pop the other half.

10 a.m. At the office. I've felt no rush, but alertness has snuck up on me. I'm incredibly attentive, but not on edge. I really, really feel like working.

2 p.m. This is when I usually fold. Not today. I'm working twice as fast as usual. I have a desperate urge to write, to make reporting calls, to finish my expense account. I find myself talking very loudly and quickly. A colleague says I'm grinning like a "feral chipmunk."

6 p.m. Annoyed to have to leave the office when there is all this lovely work to do.

9 p.m. Home. After dinner, I race upstairs to start working again. This is totally out of character, especially when "Monday Night Football" is on.

12 a.m. I want the day to keep going but force myself to go to bed. I fall asleep easily enough, but it's a weird night.I have lots of dreams, which is unusual. All are about Getting Things Done.

Day 2, Tuesday
6:30 a.m. I wake up feeling good, cut another pill in two, and pop a half.

9 a.m.-7 p.m. I work like a fiend again. These have been the two most productive days I've had in years. Idea for new Provigil ad slogan: "Bosses' Little Helper."

1 a.m. Again, I'm alert through the late evening, infuriating my wife by chattering at her long past her bedtime. When I conk out, I sleep deeply.

Day 3, Wednesday
7 a.m. My one-man clinical trial starts to fall apart. Everyone says modafinil is not addictive, but I wake up worried about how long my supply will last. I count the pills and realize I have only five and a half left. That's just an 11-day supply. I remember that I offered a sample to a friend yesterday. I am annoyed -- one day less for me. I start to cut up the remaining pills, wondering if I can divide them into thirds instead of halves.

I realize that maybe I can find a different supplier. I log onto the Internet to see if I can get modafinil on the sly. I find it cheap at the Discount Mexican Pharmacy. I feel delighted and relieved. Then I feel terrified that I am delighted and relieved."Discount Mexican Pharmacy"?!

7:30 a.m. I end my experiment after two days. I'm acting like a lunatic. I stash the remaining pills in the Medicine cabinet. I still have 11 great days ahead of me.

The bottom line: I loved taking modafinil for two days. I worked supernaturally hard and well. But I'd be afraid to make it a habit. I'll use it again for a special occasion -- when I am late for a deadline, perhaps. In the meantime, I'll just yawn my way through the mid-afternoon