20

Or So it Seems … Sleeping With Darth Vader

“Do you snore?” My doctor asked.

“Only when I sleep.”

“Hmmm…. For how many years?”

This falls in the how-would-I-know category. Really, I’m asleep. He hands me a “sleep inventory” form to see if I have a “sleep disorder.” I tick off my answers.

“Do you fall asleep while watching TV?”

Duh, who doesn’t? That’s why TVs have an auto-off timer.

“Do you fall asleep after eating a heavy meal?”

Sure, that’s why they invented the Barcolounger.

I work my way down the list. After some more droll questions, the survey gets down to matters of life-and-death. Specifically “Do you fall asleep behind the wheel of your car?” NO, and “Have you fallen asleep while your wife was talking to you?” Left blank.

The doctor returned and took the clipboard.

“I never have trouble falling asleep,” I said.

He studied the form “Hmm…..”

“And nothing wakes me up at night.”

“But you have afternoon fatigue,” he said, tapping question number seven.

“Yeah, that’s why I got a referral.”

“Your blood work is OK.”

“That’s good,” I said, feeling encouraged. Then, he rolled his chair over to me, and massaged my neck. “Hmmm….” He looked at more of my responses. “You may be a candidate for a sleep study.” He looked up. “Here,” he said handing me yet another paper to fill out. “You can complete this when you talk with your sleep partner.”

Partner? I’d never thought of my wife as partner in that sense, mainly because we sleep so differently. I thought  SHE was the one with a problem. She struggles to sleep. I swear, someone eating marshmallows in the kitchen it would keep her awake. Most nights she watches late-night TV to drift off. This, in turn, gives her Technicolor nightmares. I know this because she talks, no shouts, in her sleep. But it’s not all bad, if Letterman’s a rerun, I can switch off the set and just listen to her. Recently she started shouting “GRACIE ALLEN. GRACIE ALLEN,” as though it was the winning answer in a game show.

But I did what the doctor ordered, and asked her about my snoring.

“I snore?”

She stared at me like I’d grown a third eye. “Hello? I turn you on your side each night.”

I did seem to remember a loving elbow every now and then.

“When did I start?”

“Ask your Dad,” she said shaking her head sadly. “You’ve snored since day one.” She shot me that long-suffering of a woman carrying more than her share of marital baggage. “I don’t complain because I know you can’t help it.”

Now I felt bad. So we completed the form, and I did a sleep study. This is where total strangers videotape you while you’re in bed, and, no, this is not done in a cheap hotel. On top of this, I had more wires attached to me than an FBI informant. At the end of it all, I got the bad news.

“You had 38 episodes an hour,” the doctor said. As a performing arts teacher, this sounded good, until he explained that I had basically stopped breathing every minute or two.

“Really?”

“Yes,” he said, “and your oxygen levels…,” he showed me a long paper printout, “dropped below 80%.” He said that when ‘blood-ox’ goes below 80%, you’re unconscious.

“That’s why I sleep so well.”

“But you’re NOT sleeping properly.” He pointed to some other squiggles, and explained disrupted REM. Even worse, serious, long-term problems result from oxygen deprivation. Then I made the mistake of asking why this was happening, and he told me. It’s because I have “an unusually large tongue…. But the good news,” he added cheerfully, “is you don’t need surgery.” I flinched.

Instead, I got a CPAP machine. This contraption pumps air into my throat to keep it open. I was explaining this to my kids, what it looked like and how it worked, by telling them it was like a cool, jet-fighter pilot’s mask. But my kids had trouble forming a mental picture.

“Tell them you look and sound like Darth Vader,” my wife said, smiling. “But at least you quit snoring .”

Or so it seems.

Robb has enjoyed writing and performing since he was a child, and many of his earliest performances earned him a special recognition-reserved seating in the principal’s office at Highland Elementary. Since then, in addition to his weekly column on A News Cafe – “Or So it Seems™” – Robb has written news and features for The Bakersfield Californian, appeared on stage as an opening stand-up act in Reno, and his writing has been published in the Funny Times. His short stories have won honorable mention national competition. His screenplay, “One Little Indian,” Was a top-ten finalist in the Writer’s Digest competition. Robb presently lives, writes and teaches in Shasta County.

Robb Lightfoot

Robb Lightfoot is a humorist, author and educator. He and his wife raised a family of four kids, a dozen or more dogs and a zillion cats. He has enjoyed writing and performing since he was a child, and many of his earliest performances earned him a special recognition-reserved seating in the principal’s office at Highland Elementary. Since then, in addition to teaching at Shasta Community College, and his former column on A News Cafe - "Or So it Seems™" - Robb has written news and features for The Bakersfield Californian, appeared on stage as an opening stand-up act in Reno, and his writing has been published in the "Funny Times". His short stories have won honorable mention in national competitions. His screenplay, “One Little Indian,” Was a top-10 finalist in the Writer’s Digest competition. Robb presently lives and writes in Chico where he manages ThinkingFunny.com. He also hates referring to himself in the third person, and will stop doing so immediately. I can be reached in the following ways: Robb@thinkingfunny.com PO Box 5286 Chico, CA 95928 @_thinking_funny on Twitter

20 Comments
Newest
Oldest Most Voted
Inline Feedbacks
View all comments