A Different Kind of Bedroom (First Appeared in the San Francisco Chronicle)

One night two weeks ago I slept in a strange bed in a strange place.  I was not entirely alone.                                  

At a recent check-up, I had told my physician that I was often so tired that I could fall asleep in a room filled with people and be out for an hour.  She did not make the point, bless her heart, that as we mature, being tired is part of the picture.  Instead, she asked how I slept at night.  When I replied, “Not well,” she recommended that I have a sleep study.  I did, and it turned out to be a rare experience.

Sleep centers are a relatively new addition to the medical landscape. They have sprung up in many communities to help diagnose sleep problems that once went undetected.  More and more, young medical school graduates are turning to this specialty.

I had to wait six weeks for an appointment, and following directions, I arrived at the sleep facility about 9:00 P.M. with my nightie and toothbrush.  The technician led me to a cozy bedroom complete with T.V. and reading lamp.  I had just returned the day before after a long flight from afar and was so jet-lagged that all I wanted was to crawl into that inviting bed and pass out.  It occurred to me that given my condition, the study might not be valid, but my greatest wish was to get it over with.

I was no sooner under the covers with my eyes half-closed when the technician reappeared with an array of plugs, wires, and belts which she proceeded to attach to my head, neck, chest, abdomen, one leg, and one finger.  These electroids would monitor brain waves, respiration, and movement of my limbs.  The leg and finger attachments were to measure blood saturation.  She told me that I could turn from side to side but that I must not roll around completely or I would be all wound in wires.  Under ordinary circumstances I could never have slept, but with my sleep deprivation from travel plus the time changes, I declined the sleeping pill and was gone immediately.

The next thing I knew, it was 1:00 A.M., and the young woman reappeared with a nose mask and more wires.  She explained that the mask would force pressurized air into my nose, and that results from this part of the study would be compared with those recorded without the mask.  I was too tired to care what she was doing and fell asleep again.

It seemed like a minute later she was back to inform me that it was 5:00 A.M. and that I could go home.  I could have slept several hours more right where I was, but I dressed and drove out into the pre-dawn darkness to return to my own bedroom.

The bad news came about a week later.  It seems that I have S.A., Severe Apnea, (alas, not Sex Appeal).  Apnea is a condition where one stops breathing, or as the dictionary defines it, transient cessation of respiration.  It is the “not breathing” part that could, in extreme cases, send one into a permanent sleep.

Last Friday, I appeared at the sleep center to be fitted for my very own sleep mask.  The technician spent nearly an hour explaining the operation of the new apparatus that now rests next to my bed.  The prospect of attaching myself to cords and wires for the rest of my life does not thrill me, but I have little choice.  I should like to continue breathing.

My dear husband passed away nearly three years ago, so, mercifully, he will be spared the sight of his aging bride with her new appliance.  In addition to the mask I also wear a little boudoir cap to save my hair-do, and a mouth guard to keep me from grinding my teeth.  I have no desire to remarry, and for sure, now I never can.