Death Becomes Me

I really wasn't ready to die. Yet death seemed preferable to an uncertain future with a vacuum hose blasting air up my nose. Yes my friends, I trudged back to the sleep center last night (now that I've been diagnosed with sleep apnea) to be fitted for a breathing treatment that I'll have to wear for the rest of my earthly life!

It was like being Goldilocks for a moment--choosing between the snug nose seal, the roomier seal, and the seal that covered my nose and my mouth. Each device straps around the top of your head, with straps that stretch and connect at the front of your breathing orifices. I chose the one that was "just right"--knowing full well that any one of them was torture. I admitted to my medical concierge that I think I'm a bit of a mouth-breather, and that  very few things bother me, but feeling like I can't breath is at the top of the "bother me" list.

I had a half hour to relax and get comfortable with my breathing mask, which was hooked up to a hose, coming out of tabletop suction machine. It was uncomfortable, but the lights were on and I had a good book, so it was bearable. Then I was wired up like my first time in the clinic--with gummy wires coming off my face, my forehead, my scalp, my chest, and my legs. When it went dark, I couldn't relax, freaked out as I was by this very invasive tube. I couldn't figure out how to breath, I felt like I was holding my breath (had to keep my mouth shut), trying hard to create a rhythm so I could fall asleep.

Some time later and I was awakened. The EKG wires were sliding along the ends of my chest hair and not giving a reading. Imagine with me: you're in a strange place, you feel like you're laying on the bottom of an aquarium with an air thingy on, you don't know how you managed to fall asleep, but somehow you did... and someone comes into the room, wakes you up, and yanks the hair off your chest--tugging at the gummy wires so she can stick them somewhere else on your chest... I wanted to scream!

Once we were situated again, I entered the darkest moments of my night. I was left alone to fall back asleep and I panicked. I felt like I couldn't breath, I was scared, claustrophobic, and just wanted to run out of the room screaming. I almost did--but all I could think of was that they'd find some way to cajole me into coming in and doing it all over again in a week. I prayed the most random, nonsensical prayer--I just needed to relax, and I couldn't. It was very humbling and upsetting.

Somehow I fell asleep again, only to be awakened again at 3:30 because I had been drifting in and out of sleep and--still trying to get a feeling like I was breathing--had adjusted my mask. Well, my conceierge needed to fix the mask and get me to clear a nasal passage. I used the interruption to get up and use the bathroom. Disconnected from the hose of death, I took in deep breaths in my quiet, private space. Then I took a good hard look at myself in the mirror--the creases of the face mask embedded around my nose, my face in a sneer from the panic, the taped wires creating sharp lines on my forehead, and I thought: "This is better for me? I'm a mess. Can't they tell by my EKG that I'm having a panic attack??"

I was left alone again for the final time. It wasn't quite as hard this time, but I had the hope that in about 90 minutes, she'd wake me up to go home. I turned to my side and it helped me get into a bit of a rhythm. Then at 5:14, she set me free--free from the air hose, free from the wires, free from most of the sticky gel things... I had to tear the rest of them off my chest and legs--ARRRRGGGH!

I raced home and jumped into bed to reprogram myself that sleep is good, that natural air is right. I was a broken, wounded man. And I have a home health visit to look forward to within the next 10 business days when I'll be fitted for my very own suction hose of death. I'm told that the apnea creates moments in the night when the oxygen flow to my brain is lessened and that the device keeps the flow consistent, but I'm not convinced this is the solution. Losing weight is the only thing that "MAY" help. I've lost between 15-20 pounds, and I'll lose another 100 and look like an Olsen Twin if it means I don't have to wear that stupid thing... alas, that is not a highly likely solution, I'm told. I keep thinking: "Who dies of sleep apnea? Anybody? Who says I can't keep sleeping the old-fashioned way?" John Vano alive and sleeping since 1969.

Comments

[karen]

Hope you are able to get some good sleep tonight! Zzzzzzzzz...

[Susan]

I did a sleep study recently. What a weird experience! It turned out I don't have sleep apnea--I just snore loudly. Good luck with the machine. I've heard from people that it really works.

[Darnell Lamb]

What you describe sounds like my first marriage.