The Sleep Study
“Overall, doctors often take the easy route of writing prescriptions rather than the arduous route of helping their patients to find more complex long-term solutions to their emotional difficulties (8).”
This seemed to be true of my own doctor, but after the Xanax fiasco, he seemed to finally be convinced that drugs weren’t working for me. He put down the laptop for once and could see that I was serious about another resolution. People like drugs, and I forgave him for assuming that I came in expecting drugs.
“It works both ways,” Dave Andrews said. “Patients expect to get in, get drugs and get out. So not only does doctors’ limited time lend itself to drug prescribing, but the expectation of getting a quick fix exists in the patient mind as well.”
My doctor looked like he was excited by the challenge of diagnosis, a refreshing change of pace from the usual old biddies that come in to try a new antianxiety pill. I heard one in the next room before Doc came to see me. He was complaining that the Zoloft doesn’t work as well as the Valium.
“There’s one more thing I want to try with you.” He said. This time, instead of handing over a prescription, he gave me a referral to a place called Alpha Sleep. “They specialize in sleep studies, and they can help see what’s happening before, during, and after you’ve been asleep. We might find another direction based on their study results. Give them a call, and they will let me know how the testing goes.”
August 29th. At 9pm, I walk into Alpha Sleep Diagnostic Center$ armed with my fuzzy polar bear pajamas, a fluffy new pillow, and a bottle of generic melatonin. The super-nice technician greets me and shows me to my room. It’s not what I expected: a king-size bed, TV, and the pseudo Southwest décor of a moderately priced chain hotel. I filled out a questionnaire. Question One: Do you have trouble falling asleep and staying asleep at night?
Nope, just here for the free satellite TV.
The technician pointed out the cameras in the room and fitted me for a mask. Then I was strapped to wires and belts around my waste. Then on my fingertip. Then a couple of more on my chest, followed by a few on me legs. Then the tech stuck some EEG sensors over my melon. Fortunately she had a huge, smooth surface to work with.
So this is what it is, is it? I have trouble sleeping in the comfort of my own home, so the solution to this is to take me into a strange room with cameras and microphones, strap me up with enough wires that I could pass for a cyborg, and expect me to fall asleep? There’s no way this was going to happen.
So you’re in bed again, wide awake. Your socks are cutting off your circulation again. The pillow isn’t quite right and your neck is at a weird angle. Your hot, and then cold. In your own bed at home, you can kick the sheets off. But here, they have those damned hospital corners, and it takes all you effort to kick one corner out so your leg can breathe. But that’s not all you have to deal with now. There are microphones and cameras everywhere, and you made the mistake of eating pizza with jalapeños for dinner. The pulse-ox monitor on your finger is too tight. The EEG sensors itch. You want to turn around to your side, but the belts and wires might get ripped out of place, and you’ll have to start over. The melatonin is useless.
The first half of the study was mask-free. They check to see how you fall asleep and how your body and mind behave under “normal” circumstances. I finally dozed off, and what I remember next is being woken up by the tech to put the mask on me that we had tried out earlier. I looked like a sci-fi freak show. I did my best to fall asleep, but the mask was suffocating. The tech had hooked me up to a CPAP (Continuous Positive Airway Pressure). It’s impossible to exhale with air flowing constantly into your throat through your nose. I didn’t know exactly how much this all was costing me, but I felt like this was another waste of time; another failed effort to pin up on my insomnia wall of shame.
How it happened, I’ll never be sure, but I fell asleep. Unfortunately, I woke up some hours later in a panic, and ripped the mask off of my face. The tech told me how much better I had been breathing with the mask on, and how much better I would feel if I could have slept the whole night with it on.
After this visit, no doctor’s office visit was required. The nurse at Doc’s office told me that I had sleep apnea and they were sending me a machine$ to help me breathe at night.
Obstructive sleep apnea is a sleep disorder that affects one’s ability to breathe at night. This is because the muscle tissue in the back of the throat relaxes and blocks the airway. This causing snoring, and it causes people to stop breathing repeatedly (9). It’s bad for the heart and circulation, and it’s obviously bad for a good night’s sleep.
Sleep apnea is more likely to occur in men, people who snore loudly, people who have high blood pressure, and people who are overweight. Neck circumference also plays a role in risk.
“Well, Seth, you do have a pretty fat neck,” Doc says.
The sleeping disorder affects about 12 million Americans, one report from Johns Hopkins claims. The same report claims that having sleep apnea increases the risk of death by 46 percent in severe cases, and 17 percent even in moderate cases (10). The most famous case of sleep apnea-related death occurred in December of 2004, when NFL great Reggie White died from complications due to the disorder (11).
I keep these alarming stats in the back of my mind as I try to fall asleep at home with my machine and masks. So far, no dice. No matter what I take to fall asleep, and no matter how tired I am, I just can’t fall asleep with the mask on.
My sleeping problems were about to continue when I started to realize how much this was going to be costing me.
This seemed to be true of my own doctor, but after the Xanax fiasco, he seemed to finally be convinced that drugs weren’t working for me. He put down the laptop for once and could see that I was serious about another resolution. People like drugs, and I forgave him for assuming that I came in expecting drugs.
“It works both ways,” Dave Andrews said. “Patients expect to get in, get drugs and get out. So not only does doctors’ limited time lend itself to drug prescribing, but the expectation of getting a quick fix exists in the patient mind as well.”
My doctor looked like he was excited by the challenge of diagnosis, a refreshing change of pace from the usual old biddies that come in to try a new antianxiety pill. I heard one in the next room before Doc came to see me. He was complaining that the Zoloft doesn’t work as well as the Valium.
“There’s one more thing I want to try with you.” He said. This time, instead of handing over a prescription, he gave me a referral to a place called Alpha Sleep. “They specialize in sleep studies, and they can help see what’s happening before, during, and after you’ve been asleep. We might find another direction based on their study results. Give them a call, and they will let me know how the testing goes.”
August 29th. At 9pm, I walk into Alpha Sleep Diagnostic Center$ armed with my fuzzy polar bear pajamas, a fluffy new pillow, and a bottle of generic melatonin. The super-nice technician greets me and shows me to my room. It’s not what I expected: a king-size bed, TV, and the pseudo Southwest décor of a moderately priced chain hotel. I filled out a questionnaire. Question One: Do you have trouble falling asleep and staying asleep at night?
Nope, just here for the free satellite TV.
The technician pointed out the cameras in the room and fitted me for a mask. Then I was strapped to wires and belts around my waste. Then on my fingertip. Then a couple of more on my chest, followed by a few on me legs. Then the tech stuck some EEG sensors over my melon. Fortunately she had a huge, smooth surface to work with.
So this is what it is, is it? I have trouble sleeping in the comfort of my own home, so the solution to this is to take me into a strange room with cameras and microphones, strap me up with enough wires that I could pass for a cyborg, and expect me to fall asleep? There’s no way this was going to happen.
So you’re in bed again, wide awake. Your socks are cutting off your circulation again. The pillow isn’t quite right and your neck is at a weird angle. Your hot, and then cold. In your own bed at home, you can kick the sheets off. But here, they have those damned hospital corners, and it takes all you effort to kick one corner out so your leg can breathe. But that’s not all you have to deal with now. There are microphones and cameras everywhere, and you made the mistake of eating pizza with jalapeños for dinner. The pulse-ox monitor on your finger is too tight. The EEG sensors itch. You want to turn around to your side, but the belts and wires might get ripped out of place, and you’ll have to start over. The melatonin is useless.
The first half of the study was mask-free. They check to see how you fall asleep and how your body and mind behave under “normal” circumstances. I finally dozed off, and what I remember next is being woken up by the tech to put the mask on me that we had tried out earlier. I looked like a sci-fi freak show. I did my best to fall asleep, but the mask was suffocating. The tech had hooked me up to a CPAP (Continuous Positive Airway Pressure). It’s impossible to exhale with air flowing constantly into your throat through your nose. I didn’t know exactly how much this all was costing me, but I felt like this was another waste of time; another failed effort to pin up on my insomnia wall of shame.
How it happened, I’ll never be sure, but I fell asleep. Unfortunately, I woke up some hours later in a panic, and ripped the mask off of my face. The tech told me how much better I had been breathing with the mask on, and how much better I would feel if I could have slept the whole night with it on.
After this visit, no doctor’s office visit was required. The nurse at Doc’s office told me that I had sleep apnea and they were sending me a machine$ to help me breathe at night.
Obstructive sleep apnea is a sleep disorder that affects one’s ability to breathe at night. This is because the muscle tissue in the back of the throat relaxes and blocks the airway. This causing snoring, and it causes people to stop breathing repeatedly (9). It’s bad for the heart and circulation, and it’s obviously bad for a good night’s sleep.
Sleep apnea is more likely to occur in men, people who snore loudly, people who have high blood pressure, and people who are overweight. Neck circumference also plays a role in risk.
“Well, Seth, you do have a pretty fat neck,” Doc says.
The sleeping disorder affects about 12 million Americans, one report from Johns Hopkins claims. The same report claims that having sleep apnea increases the risk of death by 46 percent in severe cases, and 17 percent even in moderate cases (10). The most famous case of sleep apnea-related death occurred in December of 2004, when NFL great Reggie White died from complications due to the disorder (11).
I keep these alarming stats in the back of my mind as I try to fall asleep at home with my machine and masks. So far, no dice. No matter what I take to fall asleep, and no matter how tired I am, I just can’t fall asleep with the mask on.
My sleeping problems were about to continue when I started to realize how much this was going to be costing me.
