Summer of Bean

It’s been almost a month now since the night I woke up gasping for air, my heart racing.  It happens every now and then and let me tell you, it’s a scary thing.  It’s sleep apnea and it freaking sucks.

I didn’t know it at the time, but my first real experience with it was when I was a kid.  My dad usually spent Saturday and Sunday afternoons on the couch, Andy Capp-style, facing the couch back, arms folded against his body.  He napped for hours.  And as my brother and I watched TV, Dad would snore away.  Sometimes he would quit breathing for several seconds.  After a bit, he would finally take in a deep breath, and the cycle would start again.  This would go on for hours.  I had no idea this was apnea.  And I had no idea it killed.

My brother called me some years later and told me about his own experience with apnea and how he’d gone in for a sleep study and now had the CPAP mask.  My brother!  He’s 2-1/2 years younger than me and a hundred pounds lighter.  And he has apnea?  Crap.  That meant it was a matter of time before I’d need to face the same reality.

My wake-up call (pun unintended) came in two parts.  First, my dad announced a few weeks ago that he’d undergone his own sleep test six weeks ago and he would be getting his own CPAP mask.  Then came that night I woke up gasping.  It was time.  With my 38th birthday coming up, I figured I’d been ignoring my health long enough.  I needed to get this thing under control before it did me in.  The late-thirties seem to be about the time the really bad stuff starts.  Especially when you’re 300-plus pounds.

I made the doctor’s appointment the morning after my episode.  I had to wait a week, but I finally got in.  It was a quick consultation with the doctor.  I just wanted to get my referral and get out of there.  Of course a doctor can’t look at a guy my size and let me get away without a lecture about my weight.  I told him I’d been exercising regularly and watching what I eat.  He asked me what I did for a living.  I told him I’m a cubicle dweller.

“Well,” he said, “you should probably limit your caloric intake to about 1500 calories a day.  You really don’t need any more than that, particularly if you’re in a sedentary occupation.”

1500 calories?  Was he kidding?  Holy crap.  That was about half what I’d been told I needed to consume to lose weight.  But what he said really made sense.  He suggested it was easier to control calories on the front-side than it was to burn them off once they’ve been consumed.  To me that was a really interesting point and something I’ve meditated on for a few weeks now.  I haven’t been 100% faithful to his advice, but I’ve been better.  No more fast food.  No more M&M’s from the vending machine.  It hasn’t been that hard.

After the lecture, I got my referral.  And I succumbed to his suggestion that I get a full physical.  My insurance covers it 100%, so why not?  I got a call  from the sleep center the next day and made my appointment.  It was this last Saturday night.

I hate hospitals.  My mom was a nurse so I kind of grew up around them.  They smell funny.  And there’s always drama.  Ask my friends, they’ll tell you…I hate drama.  Walking into the place Saturday night, I was immediately greeted by both the smell and someone’s drama over their gout.  Blah.

The sleep center, thankfully, was segregated from the rest of the hospital.  It almost resembled a motel.  Clean rooms with regular beds.  And quiet.  Oh the quiet.

They took me to my room, had me fill out a couple of questionaires and watch a video.  The video was about 15 minutes long or so.  It showed a dramitization of how the evening would unfold.  They’d put sensors on me, stick me in bed, and video tape me choking.  Good times, right?

As I watched the video, it all became clear to me.  The guy playing the patuent in the video was playing me.  Couldn’t sleep.  Was having trouble concentrating during the day.  Falling asleep while he was driving home.  Waking up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom.  Like lots.  Weird.  It was funny, the technician came in after the video was over and asked me to tell him in my own words why I was there.  This was for the insurance.  I just looked at him, my eyes wide, and told him everything I’d just seen on the video was me.  Everything.  He chuckled, wrote something down on the form, and left the room.

A few minutes later, he returned and started applying electrodes to my head.  As he took the tape measure out, I asked him if my head was the largest he’d ever measured.  He took the circumference and said 62 cm.  He’d seen a few folks with 62 cm skulls in his day.  But after a few seconds, he said everyone else who’d measured 62 cm had hair.  I don’t.  He said with hair, I’d probably be 64 or 65 cm, so yes…I was the largest head he’d ever measured.  So I have that going for me.

Once he had me wired up, he left me alone to watch the rest of SportsCenter and think about hitting the sack.  Finally around 10pm I did just that.  And I quickly fell asleep.

Unfortunately it didn’t last.  After about a half hour I woke up, and I spent the rest of the night tossing and turning.  I may have slept for a few hours that night, but that’s it.  They came and woke me up at 6am on Sunday.  The tecnician told me I didn’t qualify for the CPAP mask.  At least not initially.  I needed to have something like 20 incidents in an hour as I recall.  And I didn’t come close.

“I had a few,” I protested.

He agreed, I did.  But not enough.

So it comes and it goes.  And frankly I’m happy.  I didn’t want the mask.  I wanted the mouth piece.  It seems less cumbersome and more portable.  Not to mention cheaper.  While I’ve decided expense won’t really be a factor here, there’s no price on health, I’d still prefer the mouth guard.  It looks like my wishes may be fulfilled.

The technician said it would take a week or ten days to get the results of the test back to my physician and we’d figure out what to do next.  In the meantime I wait.  And exercise.  And try and figure out how to get by on 1500 calories a day.

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