Serving Barnwell County and it's neighbors since 1852
“Do you know you have sleep apnea?” the woman at the doctor’s office asked by phone.
“No, I didn’t know that,” I said.
“Do you have headaches in the morning?”
“Not really,” I said.
“Do you lack energy in the morning?”
“No, I feel pretty good most mornings.”
Despite my positive answers, she recommended I come in and get fitted for a CPAP, which is like a garden hose with a mask on one end. She is concerned that I stop breathing several times during the night, and my oxygen level drops. She knows this because I took a sleep study, which is what I did during Western Civ class in college.
“But I feel fine,” I insisted. The woman did not respond.
If you don’t know what a CPAP does, well, I’ll tell you: It’s a machine that pumps air through a hose and up your nose, sort of like a tire inflator, only less forceful. The air comes with its own man-made humidity, generated from a water basin at the base of the machine.
The first mask I tried was called a Siesta Full Face Mask. I know enough Spanish to know that siesta is a short nap taken in the afternoon. And I needed a siesta after wearing the Darth Vader-like contraption most of the night, because I wasn’t getting much sleep.
I am not good at putting puzzles together in the dark, which is what I had to do after a trip to the bathroom at 2 a.m.
The next mask I tried was one with two short tubes that rested inside my nostrils, except when I turned over in bed and they came out and blew onto my wife’s lovely hairdo.
My current mask fits under my nose. Of the three, this one is the least annoying. Which is not saying much.
The theory is, you won’t stop breathing if a machine is exhaling into your nose like German Shepherd sleeping on a full stomach, but without the odor. If you open your mouth, the air escapes immediately, inhibiting snoring and causing your cheeks to quiver.
I don’t know if I’ll continue CPAP-ing or not. I don’t want to be a wimp, but trying to sleep with air blowing up my nose has never been on my bucket list. I kind of like breathing the old-fashioned way, on my own. But I have 30 days to decide, and that’s long enough for most any decision. Maybe I’ll get addicted to air blowing up my nose, who knows?
The CPAP actually inspired me to become a songwriter. I rewrote the lyrics of “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes,” by the Platters. I will spare you the entire song, but here’s the second verse:
They said someday you’ll find
That old men are inclined
Oh-oh-oh-oh
To get a thing that blows,
Air goes up your nose.
Not great, but writing it took my mind off my changing sleep pattern.
At least until bedtime.
