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.