Sleep Apnea

     Some years ago, I thought I might have sleep apnea. Brother John had been diagnosed with the condition and I shared a symptom—awakening suddenly, gasping for breath, having the feeling that I was suffocating, feeling like I had run a hundred-yard dash.

     Having reached my deductible with the insurance company, and having some funds left in my cafeteria plan (use it or lose it), I signed up for a visit to a sleep lab.  On the appointed day (or night), I drove to Hays. 

      I found some place to eat, but they didn’t serve liquor.  I ate without my usual beer.

      I pulled into the parking lot where the sleep lab was located.  A younger fellow with a ball of clothes in hand entered the building just ahead of me.  I grabbed my small bag and followed him.

       The place was a hybrid hospital-motel.  There was a front desk with a windowed office behind it.  One of the two young male attendants showed me to a room with a bed, nightstand, and a bathroom adjacent.  The bed’s headboard had a call button dangling from it.

       Instructed to try to go through my nightly ritual as close as I could, I showered and grabbed a book. I think I should have had that beer.  One of the questions they asked during the prep, was had I had any alcoholic beverage to drink.

      It was a bit early, about 9 p.m., when both guys came in with a fistful of wires, it looked like.  They put adhesive patches here and there.  One wire was glued right in front of my right nostril.  That wire and a few others were held in place by a headband.

     All those wires went into two bundles that were plugged into two receptors which led to some kind of machine under the nightstand.  Now, try to go to sleep.

      I didn’t go right to sleep.  I could hear loud snoring coming from another room, probably the young fellow who led the way in.  It went on for a while.  I could hear both guys stirring around and a conversation going on.  The snoring had stopped and didn’t start again.

       I really never went into a deep sleep.  I had to summon a guy to unplug me so I could use the bathroom sometime in the early a.m. 

      I saw the young fellow leave around 6:30 a.m.  In addition to his ball of clothes, probably dirty laundry now, he carried a small briefcase, a CPAP machine I assumed.  Then the young guys came to unwire me.

      When I asked, they told me they were college students who worked the sleep lab a few nights a week.  While the patients slept, they were free to study.  Plus they got paid to do the job.

     They informed me that I did not suffer from sleep apnea because I breathed through my nose.  Aha!  That wire in front of my nostril.

      I was a bit disappointed.  Not that I would leave without a machine.  Mainly, because self-diagnosis had been wrong.  I dressed and drove home, getting there in time to teach my afternoon classes.    

     In a follow-up, the doctor wrote me a prescription for sleep medication, but I never used it.  I have enough bad habits.  No need to add a drug-dependency.

      That was that.  Fast-forward twenty years, to when I couldn’t pass a physical to retain my Commercial Driver’s License.  (http://50farm.blogspot.com/2017/01/)   

     When I called on the doctor to address my blood pressure issue, despite my protestations, the doctor insisted I visit a sleep lab.  This time, I could stay home, sleep in my own bed.

      I had to go to a “class” where I learned how to hook up the machine, fill out preview and follow-up forms, and return everything before 9 a.m. the following day.  The machine this time was a headband with probes in each nostril and a sensor between my eyebrows.

      I slept quite normally.  Filling out the follow-up question, I was asked how many times I awoke during the night.  I wrote down four or five.  Ten days later, when I got my results, the machine recorded an average of 48 wake-ups per hour.  I had severe sleep apnea.

      I got the CPAP machine.  I have carried it to London, Germany, and Japan, anywhere that I plan to sleep.  It has made a big difference.  I have more energy.  My blood pressure is normal.

     A year or so later, the Goodwife was instructed to go to the sleep lab.  Perhaps her blood pressure problems were related to sleep apnea.

      Her “class” didn’t amount to much.  She brought home a machine.  This one clipped to her right forefinger.  No head band, no nostril probes, no patch between the eyebrows.  They have made a lot of progress in the year or so since I took the last test, not to mention the twenty years or so since I went through it the first time.

      Her test results showed “moderate” sleep apnea.  The “cure”, besides a CPAP machine, included the possibility of using a mouthpiece during sleep.  Except, this is the lady that can’t take a dental X-ray without barfing.  No mouthpiece need apply.

     She has been trying to use the CPAP for a few weeks.  It hasn’t worked out nearly as well for her as it has for me.  The problem is finding the right face mask.

      She is on her third mask style.  She started with “nostril pillows” that plug into the nose and are held in place with a headband.  The current mask has worked best, a modified nostril pillow.  The pulmonologist-lady says we will keep advancing until we find the right fit, perhaps a full mask that covers both nose and mouth.

      Whereas I average six to eight hours per night with my machine (it gives you all the statistics when you turn it off in the morning, including number of “events”—wake-ups—per hour), so far the Goodwife averages about five hours per night.  Her blood pressure is down, however, but she still takes blood pressure pills.

      Now, the nightly ritual includes both of us donning headgear and pushing the button on the machine.  It makes for a rather entangling goodnight kiss.    

     Thankfully, one great stride in the evolution of the CPAP includes nearly silent machines.      

        

      

   

    

R Project continued

      The last time the R ran was sometime in 1986 or ’87.  I was planting wheat with another tractor.  I noticed some little grass shoots coming up in the fine dirt prepared for planting.  Thinking it might be volunteer wheat (that would be ok), but fearing it could be jointed goat grass, I stopped the tractor and investigated.  It was goat grass coming up.

     Can’t have that.  So I shut down the 820 or 830 and started up the R.  I hooked it to the rod weeder and went after the goat grass. 

      Things went well for a short while.  Then the R started losing power, and began having a series of explosions where flames jumped out of the exhaust pipe.  Soon it was running on only one (of two) cylinders. 

      It was growing dark, so the explosive flames emanating from the muffler were quite colorful.  But not funny.  I unhitched the rod and limped the R back to the farmyard.  It managed to back itself into the red barn, far in the corner, where it stayed for the next 30 or so years.     http://50farm.blogspot.com/2017/11/

      Many a time I wished it were operational.  With the right combination of social schedule, weather, and good luck, I may get it off the unemployed roll.  Here it is in its homeless state of uncleanliness.

      Slowly, it sheds its parts:

     One of the hardest jobs was removing the studs that hold the exhaust/water pipes and the air intake fitting to the top of the head. Having removed the nuts retaining the pipes, it was necessary to take the studs out of the head, too.  I double nutted it, but couldn’t get the nuts tight enough to turn the stud in the head.  Add the vice grip, or adjustable locking pliers, in case you object to using a brand name for a generic tool.

     The outside ports are exhaust ports.  The next two are water jacket ports (notice the rust).  The middle one is the air intake port.  The outside ports lead to the exhaust valves.  The inside port leads to the intake valves.  The water ports connect directly to the radiator.    

      Altogether, there are 12 studs to remove in the top of the head.  All went well until number eleven came up.  Woops!

  

      “Don’t know my own strength!” to quote Bullwinkle.  Note the twisted-off stud.  I wasn’t able to do a selfie of my right arm between elbow and shoulder after the stud twisted off and my arm connected with the radiator cowling.  I was wearing a long sleeve shirt, a heavy over shirt, a hoodie, and coveralls.  Blood soaked the sleeve of my long sleeved shirt.  I wasn’t aware of the extent of the damage until the “nooning” when I removed the outer layer of clothing.  I did feel my pain, however.  It helped not to look at it.

     More studs to come, but first, off came the tappet cover.

  

     Then the rocker arms and fuel injector lines.

    Then the fuel injector pump cover.  Actually, the pump cover had to come off to get the fuel lines disconnected.

     Inside the pump compartment are four nuts connected to, you guessed it, four studs.  The nuts have to come off to get the head off.  In addition to the four nuts in the pump compartment, ten ¾” nuts hold the head to the block.  (Studs again, but they don’t have to come off.)  They should be torqued to 208-foot pounds.  This isn’t a job for the weak, as they say.  I got in plenty of upper body exercise on this day.

      Another day, another strenuous task.  The chain hoist hung on the east wall (can be seen in the background of the second picture above).  It had to be lifted up and hooked to the cross bar overhead.  I don’t remember it being such a hard job in days of old.  Or maybe it isn’t the days that are old.

    I had to remove the lower water pipes, connected to the head with four more studs.  I felt like I had in a day’s work by the time I got to this stage.

    Note the left valve, which is the exhaust valve for the left or number one cylinder.  The little “eclipse” mark at about 2 o’clock is where the flames were coming from that came out the exhaust pipe.  The valve is badly burned.  Why did it fail?  Valve springs too weak?  Tappets set too tight, so the valve never fully closed?

     Well, it won’t run that way.  Eight more studs to remove, the four that go into the pump compartment, and four holding the lower water pipes.  The four going into the pump compartment spend their life in the oil, so come out fairly easily.  The water pipe ones get rusty and stubborn.  Another twist-off.  This time, I didn’t injure myself.

      On a rainy day, the head went to Duerst Machine in Burlington.  I pointed out the two twisted-off studs.  “Yeah,” both guys said, and shrugged.  Must happen all the time.

       Next step, see if parts are available.  They are, at a healthy price.  Do I install new piston rings while I’m this close?  I have to remove the starting engine to get to the rod bearings.  If I don’t change rings and it uses oil and doesn’t have good compression, I have to go through the whole remove-the-head thing again.

     A set of rings (there are 14 of them, seven per piston) cost $300+.  A gasket set cost $200+.  One of the twisted-off studs costs $13.  The water pipe stud is only 7/16” and costs only $11.  Of course, they are all painted green for that bargain price.  Well, maybe nothing in this order is painted green, but they are green by association.  I mustn’t complain.  I can still get new parts for a sixty-year-old machine.

      The R gets a rest (as if it hasn’t had enough of one) while I get back to my social schedule.  The quartet sang two songs (national anthem, and America) at a Rotary convention in Estes Park.  Our lead is a Rotarian.  It was a long way to drive to sing two songs.  We had to go through Longmont because 34 is closed for flood repairs—for the second year.