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SLEEPING WITH A
NEW FRIEND
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I'm sure it's coincidental and has nothing to do with
age, but I've been writing quite a bit about medical problems lately. I
promise to move on to other subjects in the future, assuming I'm still
alive.
Meanwhile, I've got another one to share. Along with 18
million other Americans, I have been diagnosed with sleep apnea, which
happens when your upper airway becomes blocked while you sleep, reducing
airflow.
This is a condition that generally bothers your sleeping
partner more than it does you. And my sleeping partner, after shoving me
about 17 times one night, suggested I do a sleep study to see if I had sleep
apnea.
So off I went, after waiting three months for an appointment
(how could sleep doctors be so busy?) I met with a doctor who looked like
she was 17 years old, and she gave me a contraption to take home and
evaluate my sleep.
I got the results by phone a few days later. I had a
moderate case of sleep apnea, which if left untreated can conceivably lead
to numerous health complications, like premature death.
And I knew how to treat it. I had a bunch of friends and
relatives who used the Continuous Positive Airway Pressure machine (CPAP) to
open up the airways and prevent sleep apnea episodes. As an added bonus, it
keeps you from snoring.
I wanted nothing to do with the CPAP, because I knew
there was a better way. I had heard the radio ads for a device called
Inspire, an alternative to the CPAP where you don't have to wear a mask and
have a tube strangling you all night. Sounded good to me.
"How about Inspire?" I asked the young doctor
when we met to discuss options. "I hear you can control the sleep apnea
with a remote control."
She pulled out a small device about two inches long and
one inch wide and showed it to me. It looked fairly inconsequential. I was
almost on board.
"Where do you place it? I innocently asked, guessing you
wore it like a watch.
"It's implanted under the skin, right near your
neck," she calmly replied.
The ads on the radio said Inspire is not for everyone. I
suddenly saw why.
"It's about a three hour procedure under general
anesthesia to implant it," she continued. "Then you use a remote
control to turn it on and off and adjust the settings."
I quickly decided I'd prefer a premature death. Inspire was not
an option. I would have to go with the CPAP. She showed me a couple of
different options for masks, and I chose the least obtrusive one.
Things have changed in the CPAP world. No longer do you have to
use the full face mask that makes you look like Hannibal Lecter in Silence
of the Lambs, or if you prefer, Darth Vader. Only a nose attachment is used
now, so you only look slightly ridiculous.
The machine is also much quieter than the old ones. No more
pulsating noises as though you're in intensive care. You would feel almost
normal if you weren't attached to a tube.
My first night with my CPAP was relatively uneventful. I
slipped on the headgear, attached the nose piece, and leaned over to kiss my
sleeping partner goodnight.
Her screams didn't bother me much. I rolled onto my back, which
is the position where my sleep apnea formally thrived, and tried to enjoy
the air that was flowing into my nose.
I slept fairly well. No more snoring, no more dry mouth and no
more pushing from my sleeping partner. The tube got tangled a few times when
I rolled over, but nothing I couldn't handle.
It's now been a few months since I started using the CPAP.
Studies have shown that about half the people who are advised to use a CPAP
machine abandon it within a year. It's estimated long-term adherence is as
low as 30 percent.
I'm fairly certain I'll stick it out. It's weird, but so is
premature death.
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