"I can't get to sleep...I think about the implications..."

So, guess what people, Bryan snores. He snores a lot. He also has apparently developed an annoying habit of talking about himself in the third-person. He's going to stop that now.

Yeah...ever since I was a teenager, I've snored like a grizzly bear operating a chainsaw in the middle of a paper mill (what I'm trying to say with that simile is that I snore very, very loudly). It's bothered countless roommates, mission companions, family members, people residing within a kilometer of where I'm sleeping, and, over the past couple years, my wife. Yet, that last one was the first one that made me want to do anything about it.

From what I've been told (I don't have firsthand knowledge as it happens when I'm asleep), my breathing also starts and stops when I snore. This, according to the so-called "experts," is a tell-tale sign of sleep apnea, an affliction that can lead to high blood pressure, heart disease, sleep death, and regular death. What I'm saying is that, in the event that I do actually have sleep apnea, you should start putting together the paperwork to start a memorial foundation for me right away. And, you should probably send me money. In fact, you may want to do that last thing regardless -- never know what other bad things could happen to me.

The only way to get formally diagnosed with sleep apnea is to undergo what they call a "sleep study." That name implies that some sort of professionals will monitor you while you sleep and determine if you're showing the signs of sleep apnea. In fact, I think my Ear, Nose, and Throat doctor used those exact same words to describe this procedure. Unfortunately, they don't come to your house or let you take a short nap in the doctor's office for this procedure. It's a whole big thing.

Here's a little drawing that supposed to help people get an idea as to how a sleep study will work:



However, I went through the ordeal of a sleep study just last night. Sadly, it's a bit more complicated than the name, my doctor's description, or this little cartoon would lead one to believe.

First of all, during Step 1 ("Patient arrives"), no nice-looking Jewish doctor was there to meet me at the door. I had to park three blocks away and walk through the freezing cold and enter the sleep center through a back door, but only after ringing a bell and waiting for several minutes for an unpleasant receptionist lady to let me in. Her only greeting was "Name?" and "Fill out form." In her defense, I think she only knew a little English. Still, she was very short with me and not very helpful.

Steps 2-4 are generally accurate, though they leave a great deal out. What's not mentioned is that the electrodes are dipped in some weird goo that resembles toothpaste (I was told several times that it was necessary and that the goo was, in fact, not toothpaste, but, "stuff for the electrodes"). This non-dental-related goo dries and becomes sticky and even gooier, a problem that is compounded if you, like me, have a large amount of hair covering the affected areas. Also, the wires attached to the gooified electrodes are short and tight, making movement during the night uncomfortably difficult. Now, I know this is a medical procedure and that, in the grand scheme of things that doctors can do to you, being a little uncomfortable isn't that bad. But, the point of this procedure is to monitor your sleep. The whole thing is pointless if you're unable to actually fall asleep, making the actions depicted in Steps 2-4 of the cartoon a little frustrating, if not completely mystifying.

Step 5 happened more or less as the cartoon depicts, except the bed was much smaller and on wheels, meaning that, with every shift of my person, the bed moved in different direction. I can't vouch for Step 6 as I was in the bed and not in the room where the computery stuff and data-collection was taking place. I'll give the sleep center people the benefit of the doubt.

Step 7, wherein the patient is supposed to sleep is the tricky one. Like I said, given that they'd gone to great lengths to make sleep difficult, it seems as though more detail should be included in the cartoon, for full disclosure purposes if for nothing else. Actually, for my study, they added a step. Because during the first few hours of my labored sleep I displayed signs of apnea, they came in and put a CPAP machine thingy on me. I forget what CPAP stands for and I'm not in the mood to look it up, so I'll make up my own official name: Candy Pirates Are People (too). Anyway, what this machine is supposed to do is force air down wearer's airway in order to prevent the stoppage of breathing that accompanies sleep apnea. In addition, it's supposed to cure snoring.

Here's what it looks like when it's being worn by a semi-attractive woman showing just enough cleavage to make a fat dude who snores click on the picture when researching CPAP machines online:


I wore a slightly different model...and showed way more cleavage. But, this gives you an idea.

Oddly enough, this was the most pleasant part of the night. Sure, it took me over an hour to figure out how to breath with this thing on without either choking on the stream of air or drooling all over myself. But, once that part was over, it was smooth, REM-sleep sailing until morning.

This brings us to Step 8 of the cartoon wherein the nice Jewish doctor comes in a politiely wakes you up. Sadly, that didn't happen in my case. Apparently, this particular sleep center doubles as a breakfast buffet place and they needed the space. So, at 6:00 AM this morning, they threw open the door, switched on the light and told me I had to vamoos, sticky electrode crap in my hair and all. And, instead of having a nice Jewish doctor walk me to the door and wave a friendly goodbye (as in Step 9), the unpleasant immigrant lady said "Fill out survey" and "Sign form" and then told me where the exit was. Didn't even validate my parking.

I don't know, maybe this cartoon is only accurate when the sleep-studyee is Fred Jones from Scooby Doo.

See the resemblance?

The results? I won't know for like two or three weeks. But, from the looks of things, I'll be having to get set up with one of those Candy Pirate machines. Sure, it'll be weird and it will officially usher me into an era where I can no longer claim to be young. But, at least my wife will be able to sleep.

Me too, hopefully.