What an interesting experience last night was. The wires, the glue, the straps, someone drawing on your head, it was all just so… interesting.
I arrived at the sleep study promptly at eight P.M. and was escorted to the waiting room to watch a video. I never really considered just how freaky looking a CPAP mask was and the thought of having to wear one for the rest of my life made me a little uneasy.
The video was well done by two thousand four standards but could stand for some updating. Next time you are in a waiting room, take note of the head prints on the walls behind the chairs.
Gross.
Near the end of the video another patient showed up and I vacated the one seat that faced the screen so she could add her head print to the wall. I fiddled with my phone until the technician came in and took me to my room.
This place is not a clinic, it is a suite in an office park that has been converted into a clinic. On the way past the exam rooms I asked the lady leading me if people actually slept here? I told her I had a hard enough time sleeping at home.
She didn’t laugh. I think she was the bad technician.
She took me to my room, a windowless twelve by fifteen space with a queen bed, familiar waiting room chair, night stand full of equipment, sink, small countertop, and mirror tucked in one corner and door to the bathroom.
The bed was covered in a white blanket and on top of the covering was a disturbing array of wires and sensors in plastic bags. She directed me to the bathroom and said I could change and my technician, Angela would be in shortly.
The bathroom was really a toilet room as there was no bath present. It was rather large, spartan, with the typical aluminum assistance bars framing the thunder box.
I quickly removed my clothes and slipped into shorts and a t-shirt. Hooks would have been a good addition to this space, but the top of the toilet was sufficient to keep things off the floor. I have issues with stuff touching bathroom floors.
Gross.
I made my way back to the chair and proceeded to make a head print on the wall behind it that also held the sink. The front kick panel of the sink was sitting perpendicular to the floor and up against the top edge of the supports for the couter top. It was designed with plywood blocks cut at a forty five degree angle that would allow it to hang concealing the pipes behind it. For some reason it was set on the industrial grey carpet and I was tempted to place it back where it belonged, tilted forward thirty degrees lining up with the edges of the supports. I figured it was off for a reason and besides, no one likes it when visitors start fixing stuff around your sleep study room.
I grabbed my “The Supernatural Ways of Royalty” book and started reading where my pink post it note said I left off months before and 3 pages in Angela knocked on my door.
Angela was a soft spoken woman with dark skin and black hair in her thirtieths. She was very professional and explained that she would start getting me ready for the study.
The first thing we did was a blood pressure reading which took an uncomfortable amount of time. I hate feeling my heart beat in my arm and the cuff was on so long my fingers got numb.
The next thing I needed to do was drop four wires down the outside of my shorts that would connect to two patches on each lower leg. They measured leg movements. She applied some very cold cleaning solution to the area and attached the electrodes. To these electrodes the wires were snapped into place and the other end plugged into something that looked like you could pick up at Radio Shack.
The next electrodes to adorn my body were placed on my chest one over my heart and one over my right scapula. Same cold cleanser, same sticky patch, same snapped on wire leads.
Two elastic bands found their way across my chest and belly and it was at that moment, as she was reaching around to strap them on, that I thanked God I was not a sleep technician. Each of these bands received two wires that ran up and over my shoulders.
The next part of the procedure took me by surprise. Angela grabbed a red crayon and a tape measure and started drawing on my head. It made me laugh because I had an eyewitness view of the whole thing since the chair had been moved in front of the sink before we started. It was at that moment I thanked Alla that I was not a sleep technician although my lack of hair made it easier for her to see what she was doing.
The next series of electrodes, three on my chin, two on my cheeks, two on my eyes, and seven on my skull were all pasted on with dielectric glue and tape. The finale piece was shoved in my nose and I was all ready to rock.
Seriously?
Who came up with this? It was about the most uncomfortable thing I have ever put on and it was about to get worse.
I wasn’t ready for bed yet so she left me to myself for a little while and I navigated around the room holding the interface box in my hand. I started thinking about all the other people that held the interface box in their hand while going to the John and I promptly washed my hands.
Gross.
After taking a couple pictures I was off to bed. I instinctively started to lie down on my half and realized I could sleep in the middle tonight.
It wasn’t that great, I much prefer to share my bed.
I grabbed the remote for the T.V. and flipped through until I found some classic car restoration show on National Geographic or something. We don’t have a T.V. so I could be wrong about that.
I watched the show and before long Angela was back in to complete the hook up. Since there was still room in my nostrils, she grabbed a nasal tube and proceeded to add that on top of the other nasal sensor. I try and make a habit of keeping my nasal passages clear so the sensation of these two devices competing for space was incredibly distracting.
She also placed a pulse ox monitor on my left index finder which immediately caused my brain to fixate on the heat and pressure all but guaranteeing me discomfort.
The show was nearly over and Angela left the room and was now talking to me over the intercom on the ceiling. It was directly adjacent to the small dome camera and both perched over the T.V. which hung on the wall that separated the bathroom.
The next five minutes consisted of breathing and grinding teeth, moving eyes and legs, and more breathing. I even got to fake snore, the highlight of the exercise. Later I would try and give them the real thing, although the reality of that was becoming less likely.
I was done with the testing and had passed enough to be ready to start the sleep study. I hoped my years of training would pay off. I was determined to be the best sleeper they had ever seen. I would sleep like no one else had slept before! Rip Van Winkle was my idol and I would not let him down.
I moved my head two degrees and two electrodes popped off.
I knew I couldn’t fix the sink, but this I could do. With my glowing pulsating hot finger I found the electrode and tried in vain to stick it back on.
“Sir, you need to leave the electrodes alone” drifted from the ceiling.
“It came off”. I retorted.
It was at this moment I considered just going home. I don’t like being corrected, especially when it wasn’t my fault. All I did was move my head!
Soon the door opened and another technician came in. She was a heavy set light skinned lady with blond hair. I told her it just popped off when I moved my head. I was expecting a fight, but she was very nice, especially when she looked at the tangle of wires.
Some more glue, more tape, a bit of rerouting of copper and I was good to go. I asked her if I could lie on my side and she said no. I never sleep on my back, but they need to have the study done on my back.
Great. I was going to fail for sure now.
The final thing she did was move the pulse ox monitor to my pinkie finger which helped lessen the sensation of my heart exploding out of my fingertips.
The next 5 hours were to be blunt from hell.
I kept waking up, very aware that I was not breathing. I could hear the woman next door moaning, the technicians talking, the air conditioner conspiring to freeze me, the gulf oil well spewing, it was the most unrestful sleep and then it was over.
Five A.M. Angela came in and unhooked me and I felt like a reprieved man. A warm wash cloth, a brush of the teeth, a change of clothes and I was out of there to come home and blog.
Which is what I have been doing for an hour and a half.
I type slow but thank you Jesus I am not a sleep study technician.
Results next week. I already know what is in my future, another date with Angela, another night of torture, but the goal of sleep lies just beyond and I for one have earned it.
