So, it was getting pretty bad. I was draggin' my sorry self around half dead all the time. When I got hit by what I thought was a mild case of flu after Christmas and spent 2 days sleeping around the clock, I had to admit there was something going on so I hauled myself off to see the doctor.
I bemoaned my exhausted state, denying that it could in anyway be connected with the fact that I am aging, according to me, quite nicely, thank you very much. "Hhmmmm," says my doctor in his friendliest Shrek voice (my doctor's name is Mike Meyer, although he looks more like Ichabod Crane than Shrek), "sounds like you may not be getting enough oxygen to your brain."
"What?" I'm looking at him askance, with one eyebrow crocked in my best "what you talkin 'bout Willis" look.
"Sounds like you may have sleep apnea," he explained. "When this happens your brain doesn't get enough oxygen while you are sleeping and you have exactly the symptoms you have just described. Sounds like a classic case. In fact, it's quite common. More often in overweight men than women. But as a person ages, their chances of having this problem increases."
Damn, can this doctor stick his foot in his mouth or what? In just 2 sentences he's told me my brain is starving for oxygen, evidently because I'm old and fat (although not male).
"Ummm, well" I reply, just slightly befuddled.
"What we need to do is have you tested. We'll set you up to spend the night in the hospital and they'll be able to tell you before you leave if you are suffering from this condition, and exactly what you need to start feeling better."
I'm still looking at the doctor like he has just taken one eye out of his head, nicely shined it up and stuck it right back in, without skipping a beat. "It's easily treated." (He's still talking... crap, did I just doze off or something, here) "We'll prescribe a sleep device for you so that when you sleep you will not be deprived of oxygen, and in no time you will be feeling a lot better."
Like I can keep up with what he is telling me. I'm still trying to get past the aging/overweight thing. Excuse me, please, but my brain evidently needs some oxygen, LIKE RIGHT NOW!
"You'll find it a little difficult to adjust to sleeping with a device on your face, but you will." the Doctor says, as I find myself thinking of Darth Vader's asthma like wheeze invading my night space and wondering how I'm supposed to go to sleep with that image floating in and out of my oxygen starved brain.
"You'll be amazed at the difference it will make. It's not a cure all, but you won't be exhausted all the time. But first we have to get you tested, OK?" the Doctor says.
"Whatever you think best, Dr. Vader" I mumble under my breath, and he looks at me drawing his eyebrows together and wrinkling up his forehead. "Ha!" he exclaims, "good one". He walks me back to the receptionist's desk with his arm casually draped across my shoulder in a comradely fashion, drops me off asking her to schedule me in at the Sleep Lab, gives me a pat on the back and mumbles as he glides back down the hall "May the force be with you. Ha-Ha!"
Monday, January 03, 2005
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