Thursday, July 14, 2011

Like the Most Memorable Scene in "There's Something About Mary," but Not Really

I know I used this image before, but it's an
accurate representation of what my
groggy state felt like in the morning.
Here we go with the thrilling conclusion to my three-part series, "The Anthony Show Goes to the Sleep Center." I've discussed my arrival, being wired to a machine, and an evening that included one of the craziest dreams I've even had.

Today I'll tell you all how it ended.

After being roused by my caretaker, Harold, he quickly went to work removing the wires that were attached to my head, chest, and legs, as well as whatever it was that was wrapped around the front of my face and protruded into my nose, and the red light that was taped to my finger.

"How'd you sleep?" he asked.

"I don't know," I replied. "I guess you'll let me know in a week." Harold chuckled softly.

As he began to put away the wires and I filled out a post-study survey, a young Chinese-American resident who seemed even more attractive and smelled quite good thanks to my half-away state entered and I remembered that I'd agreed to take part in a clinical trial. All I had to do for this clinical trial was give a sample of blood as soon as I woke up.

It sounded pretty easy, and the doctor who referred me to the center was thankful that I'd agreed to participate, but there were two disappointing factors:
  1. The trial would not benefit my health directly. That is, they would be examining blood samples from as many patients as possible in order to identify sleep-apnea trends, not to find any cure for whatever problems I had.
  2. Unlike some more lucrative clinical trials, I would not be compensated.
I told the resident that the blood-draw procedure wouldn't be a problem for me because someone came to take my blood every morning, but I said it so deadpan that I realized she was trying to figure out what the hell I was talking about, so I added, "Just kidding."

"Oh!" she said with relief. "How'd you sleep?"

"I don't know," I replied. "I guess they'll let me know in a week." Harold chuckled softly again.

The resident left with a vital of my precious bodily fluids, and then Harold said his goodbyes and left the room. I'd expected to clean up real quick then go to work, but I had a few unexpected issues to deal with:

I had to remove the electrode-holder thingies from my legs and chest. It was not easy.

Ouch.
I felt like Steve Carrell in The 40-Year-Old Virgin. Then there was the issue of my face.

It was bad enough that the breathing-tube thingy left Tina Fey-like scars that didn't fully fade until noon...

Good morning!
...I also had to find a way to remove the blobs of goo from my hair; the stuff came from a container that looked like some Oil of Olay product from my mother's bathroom, only it was labeled "EEG Paste":

It's conductive!
This was even more difficult, especially because I'd forgotten to pack shampoo. Fortunately my hair is short. Still, it took a lot of scrubbing to remove enough gunk so my hairstyle didn't look dented.

I finished washing up, changed, and went to my desk. I was about an hour early, so I went to the cafeteria down the hall and bought an inedible egg-and-sausage sandwich, returned to my desk, and was out of sorts for the remainder of the day, because I couldn't shake this familiar feeling:

I needed a nap.

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