September 7, 2018
Dear Everyone:
I spent last Wednesday night at a
sleep center.
Not that I got a lot of sleep, of course.
Why?
A few weeks ago, during the usual six-month session to check the battery
in my chest, the benevolent
cardiologist
asked, “Have you ever been told that you
snore?”
I resisted the impulse to reply, “Is the
Pope
Catholic?
Does a bear
sleep in the woods?”
Anyone familiar with our family knows that we
all snore to one degree or
another, even the ones who deny it.
During a wake for our late brother, "Bryon", his friends
recounted a hilarious event when a bunch of them were vacationing at a
beach house. "Byron" was
snoring so loudly that all the others, without a word, picked up the cot
that he was sleeping on and moved it outside onto the porch.
"Byron" slept peacefully through the night, as did everyone else.
Once I had affirmed that I probably do snore, the benevolent
cardiologist happily gave me a referral to a local sleep center to be
tested for
sleep
apnea. What is “sleep
apnea”? It’s one of those
“conditions” that modern medicine found a “cure” for, then searched
diligently for something to apply said “cure” to.
Look it up.
Wikipedia.
Webmd.com.
Any reasonable Encyclopedia.
In addition to snoring, research is also in our blood.
In any case, the benevolent cardiologist had made an assumption, then
wanted the sleep center to perform a test to confirm his snap diagnosis.
Also, it was on his checklist.
So I reported to the sleep center bright and early, at 9:00 pm, where I
was shown into a room that could be called a bedroom in that it
contained a bed and a whole bunch of equipment.
It also had a flat screen TV attached very high up to the wall.
This might have been so that patients and technicians wouldn’t
accidentally bump into it.
Or it could be that the people who run the sleep center know that
looking upwards in the dark at something very bright has the effect of
making some people sleepy.
I wouldn’t know. The
technician told me that there was a remote control for the TV, but just
happened to “forget” to show me where it was.
Also, she assured me that she would be turning the TV off
remotely precisely at 11:00 pm, assuming that I was still awake at that
hour.
Then she proceeded to “prep”
me for the night.
First, she glued wired sensors to both legs, to see if I have Restless
Leg Syndrome, or run a lot in my sleep.
Then sensors for heartbeat, breathing and lots and lots of things
around my head. To measure
brain waves, eye movement, breathing, even if I grind my teeth.
In less than 10 minutes, I had more wires coming off me than a
well-groomed
Christmas Tree.
Then it was time to climb into bed.
And I do mean “climb”.
The bed was a good three feet off the floor, to make it easier
for the technicians, of course.
We tried out a few masks for something called
Continuous Positive Airway Pressure, or CPAP.
(The first time you see it, you might think it read, “CRAP”.
You’re only half wrong.)
Of course, the sleep center assumed that I did have sleep apnea, since
that made testing for it easier.
The first mask was too small.
The third was too big.
The second was, not “just right”, but less obnoxious than the
others.
Then the technician went into her lair and contacted me remotely.
“Lift your right foot…
Lift your left foot…
Blink… Don’t Blink…
Open-and-close your mouth…”
And so on. After
that, I was free to read my
Kindle (“Don’t
leave home without it.”) until about 11:00.
And then it was time for Lights Out.
I did drop off to sleep for a couple of hours.
Then the technician came back in to triumphantly announce that it
was time to use the CPAP mask.
After that, it was a case of lying in the bed while a machine
blew air up my nose.
I did try turning onto my side a couple of times.
The result was that some wires pulled here and there.
And the mask slipped so that air was blowing across my face, down
my shirt, into my hair. The
technician came in to “help you with the mask”, which meant forcibly
clamping the “adjustable headgear” down over my head and all the wires
connected to it.
Eventually, I may have dropped off to sleep again.
The next thing I knew, it was 5:30 am and the technician came in
to wake me up. She announced
that the test was “all over” and began removing glued-on sensors.
She cheerfully assured me that I could help myself to coffee in
the break area before leaving.
The test results will be analyzed by a doctor of some kind in the next
couple of weeks and sent on to the benevolent cardiologist who will then
prescribe a CRAP, sorry, CPAP machine in due course.
In the meantime, I’m back in my own bed at night and much happier
for it. The best part of
spending the night somewhere else is getting home again.
Love, as always,
Pete
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