As you know, I’ve recently
completed my ‘sleep study.’ If you didn’t know, that’s another post.
First off, the title is a misnomer. I probably got the worst night sleep since
the tail end of my first pregnancy when I was so fat that I sunk to the bottom
of our waterbed and Dave had to gather enough strength amid gut-busting
laughter to pull me out. We quickly switched to a traditional mattress.
But . . . I digress.
After a delicious, albeit
expensive, dinner at HuHut (affectionately nick named the Hot Ho – that’s
another post) with the fam damily, I drove over to The Orthopedic Specialty
Hospital in Murray and reported to the Sleep Disorders Center promptly at 8:00 p.m.
on Friday, 4/22/16. They had given me a door code, as the building was
locked at night, which I could use to ring the desk and be granted
access. However, I timed it just right and snuck in after another lab
rat, I mean patient, and followed the rest of my printed instructions up to
suite 340.
I was greeted by a pleasant
young man who typed some information into his computer, had me sign my life
away, and escorted me through yet another locked door to Room Six. The
rooms were around the perimeter of a workspace at which the sleep tech’s worked
throughout the night. They were well-appointed for a sleep clinic (the rooms,
not the sleep techs), just one step below the Motel 4 in some place called
Wyntucketville. Each had a Sleep Number® bed (another misnomer),
TV, a private bathroom with a shower, a locking closet, and a small desk
& night stand.
The initial instructions
were simple enough. Complete the first side of this sheet, sign here, read
that, then wait for my sleep tech to come in and he’ll explain everything else.
Got it.
My sleep tech, Scott, was
very pleasant though not your stereotypical medical professional. He had short grey
hair, a matching Fu Manchu mustache, holes in his ears where his gauges usually
go, and full sleeves of tattoos on both arms and probably other places that I didn’t inquire about. Honestly my preference over some
stodgy old man. Scott explained what was going to happen, and dispelled my
belief that this would be a big waste of time because, really . . . how was I
supposed to get any sleep? After all, I was imagining this:
Remember?
He assured me that he only
needed a cumulative two hours of deep sleep for the doctor to be able to make
an accurate diagnosis. Even if it’s 5 minutes, then 10 minutes, then 5 more
minutes, that would work. Sounded like a horrible night. But I guess the key
word was ‘study’, not ‘sleep.’
Since my regular bedtime
wasn’t until about 10:00 p.m., I got to chillax in my luxury accommodations for
about an hour. So, I read a Star Wars book that Brian recommended. It was
actually really good. It’s set thousands of years before the Sith apprentice,
Darth Maul, and his master, the evil Darth Sidious, a.k.a. Senator Palpatine,
tried to rule the galaxy in The Phantom Menace and is about when Darth Bane discovered the
ways of the Old Sith Lords when there was only one master and one apprentice
at any given time . . . but . . . I digress. Needless to say, I’ll keep
reading.
The wiring up only took
about 40 minutes. It included about 10 attached to my head, 6 to my face, 2 to
my chest, and 2 running inside my shirt then down each pant leg and attached
to each shin. Those read what my brain, nerves, and whatever else was doing at any given moment. I also had two pressure belts strapped around my chest, one below and
one above . . . well, you get the idea . . . which measured whether I breathed with my chest, my abdomen, or both. Ummm . . . I'm pretty sure I use my lungs to breathe, but that's fine. The pièce de résistance was a
cannula-type devise that went over my ears and into my nose then tightened just
below my chin, much like an oxygen-delivery tube. It didn't deliver oxygen, of course (that would be too easy), but measured the pressure of my exhale.
 |
| Okay, so my imagination wasn't that far off. |
Scott assured me that, as I ‘slept’, he would
be just outside the room monitoring me via night-vision camera and microphone –
no, not creepy at all – and would come in if anything went wrong.
Ummm .
. . What?
He helped me get into bed while maintaining the
integrity of the wires and tubes, said goodnight, closed the door, and turned
off the lights, the controls for which were outside the
room.
Ummm . . . What?
What commenced was the
worst ½ night’s sleep since the tail end of my first pregnancy when I was so
fat that I sunk . . . I already said that. I was pretty sure that I had the
Sleep Number® bed figured out, and that my tossing and turning and
flipping and flopping all while ensuring wires and tubes and electronic-reading
devices didn’t fall off or come unhooked or get tangled was a result of said
wires and tubes and electronic-reading devices, rather than the crappy Sleep
Number® bed itself. But, when I got up at about 2 a.m. to use
the restroom (after Scott flipped on my light and came into the room to help
getting semi-unhooked beforehand, of course – remember he was watching my every
move ~ okay, it's creepy), I noticed the deep crevasse down the middle of the bed in which
I’d been trying to sleep. Imagine a hammock made of mattress material.
Yeah. So, after trying to
balance the electronic-reading devices on the back of the toilet and hold the
wires and tubes out of the way while strategically slipping down my pants ~
BLEEEEEEP This is PG, after all ~ (keep in mind the wires down my pant
legs were still intact) and sitting, all while avoiding anything electronic
ending up between me and the toilet seat, and then reversing the process only
to have to do the same thing at the sink to get my hands washed, I headed back
to bed and promptly addressed the crevasse. My Sleep Number®
is 45, by the way. Not 5, as I’d mistakenly set it for earlier in the night.
The second half of the
night was slightly better. I think I may actually have fallen asleep for
at least 5 minutes, then 10 minutes, then 5 more minutes. There may even have
been a dream in there somewhere. No crazy night visions, though. So that's good. Scott did have to come in four times
after that to adjust, re-stick, and replace various wires and tubes that were
setting off alarms at his desk, which sat just outside my room. That
probably didn’t help my sleeping much.
(now you get the irony) , so I was all set there. A quick tooth-brushing and unencumbered trip to the bathroom, and I was lookin' fly and SO out of there.
It could take three to four
weeks for the results to come back to my doctor. Ummm . . . What?
After that, I’ll schedule a follow-up visit to get the diagnosis and
recommended treatment. In the meantime, I’ll be running out of my
magic headache remedy and the doctor won’t refill it until he sees me again.
So, that will be fun.
Once I find out what’s
wrong with my head, I’ll let you know!
Stay tuned . . .