Putting the Sleep Saga to Rest

As if Sleep Study Round Two wasn't traumatic enough, I quickly found myself in a verbal scrum with study center's owner about the CPAP. Good thing I insisted she chillax until I consulted with the doctor who analyzed my sleep data.

It's a long story -- in Russian-accented English on her end of the phone and exasperated New Yorker on mine. I suspected I didn't really need the equipment she went ahead and ordered after I said, "Please don't order any equipment."  I told her to send it back or sell it to someone else.

And we wonder why health insurance co$t$ are nut$?

This morning I met with the sleep specialist doc who turned out to be a careful, compassionate, and competent listener. He didn't freak when I explained how I hate sunlight because it's so damn noisy; going to sleep at 2:00 or 3:00 AM is fine if I do it consistently. As if.

The CPAP? Not a treatment option. In fact, there aren't any real treatment options, something I'd already figured out.

"You've already explored and done everything we would have told you to explore and do," he said.

And we wonder why my personal triumphalism persists?

Sleep Study Saga Continues

Finishing a book manuscript and Christmas got in the way of reporting about Sleep Study Round Two, but those aren't the only reasons I've waited to write this post. I've needed to calm-the-F-down.

Round Two turned out to be a major freak-out experience -- and not because of the chartreuse sheets. Poly blend, too. But I was so motivated to get fitted for a CPAP machine, I wasn't going let bed not-linens drive me screaming from the room.

Actually, I did not run screaming from the room. Instead, I staggered out around 1:00 AM after being knocked over by a tsunami of unexpected feelings. Poor Tim the Tech. What to do with sobbing-to-the-point-of-hyperventilation me?

"Uh, do you want a tissue?"

Even in the midst of my meltdown I had enough consciousness -- oh please let's call it consciousness -- to take a tissue and let him continue to clutch-hug the tissue box. I managed to choke-whisper, "PTSD."

Ah, memories and hooray for knowing that I really did not need to retrieve and review all of them. Again.

"You gave it a good try," said Tim the Tech. "Some people leave the moment they see the mask."'

That's me! Giving it a good try!! Thanks and screw that, I thought while driving home in my pajamas.

There are very good reasons why I stop breathing and have since around age seven. Can $1100 of durable medical equipment fix that? We'll see. I've scheduled a chat with the doctor who went ahead and prescribed a CPAP anyway.

The sheets? Bilious.

Tim the Tech

Finding Sleep, The Final Frontier

We're going back for round two! 

This time we're bringing sleep aids!

I can think of other ways to spend Shabbat, but looks like I'll be back tomorrow night for another round at the optimistically-named Sleep Solutions. This time it's to try out CPAP (Continuous positive airway pressure) options in anticipation of having my very own machinery. Woohoo!

Although I was not happy to be informed about the snoring (so unattractive), I'm thrilled to finally get a dx for the apnea. Ever the overachiever, I don't just have ho-hum obstructive sleep apnea. I also have central sleep apnea. This is, of course, a "rarer form" and "often seen in nursing homes and among the ill."

Is anyone surprised? I am not, although I always framed my interludes of not breathing as evidence of my advanced level of attainment as a yogini -- a mash-up of pranayama and pratyahara on the way to samadhi.

What the...?  Oh, you don't know about my yoga years?!?

Meanwhile, back on the Earth Plane it all adds up to Mixed Sleep Apnea, which means finding the right mask and pressure solution will be a challenge. Of course.

Even more challenging? Another night of dealing with the sleep center's decor.

I didn't mind the goop in my hair or the 21 wire leads all over my body. The color of the room? Heinous. And the placement of the bed was a major feng shui faux pas.

I told the owner I really wanted to rearrange everything. She laughed. We'll see who's laughing on Monday because I'm pretty sure I can talk Tim the Tech into helping me move furniture by letting him hold Mr. Oatmeal.

Exploring Sleep, The Final Frontier

We're going for a sleep study!

Mr. Oatmeal is ready to go!

"Worst night's sleep, ever."

That's what friends report after staggering out, hair filled with goop and skin irritated from a night of attached monitors. Big deal, I always think. How much worse could it possible be?

Guess I'll find out.

A medical doctor told me that I probably hadn't slept for 20 years -- over a decade ago. Even before that, a psychoanalyst helped connect childhood dots that explained not being able -- or not wanting -- to sleep.

I also figured that intervening variables like fibromyalgia and then blessed menopause helped explain my wretched perpetual lack of sleep. Truly, I can sleep for 10-12 hours and wake up exhausted.

Finally, after years of telling everyone else to go get a sleep study, I've scheduled one for myself. And of course I'm taking Mr. Oatmeal with me, but I hope the lab has WiFi.