Tuesday, July 12, 2011

You'd Think a "Sleep Study" Would as Easy as, uh, Sleeping

Home sweet home!
This is a busy month for me, healthwise. At the end of July, I'm having the first of two carpal tunnel syndrome surgeries, followed by the removal of a non-working vein in my leg. Since I've turned 40, I've started to address some of my lingering ailments.

Sunday night I continued the process of dealing with what could possibly be sleep-related issues. I always feel tired, but I'd chalked that up to having children in the house and my late bedtimes, which routinely exceed midnight. But Mrs. The Anthony Show has noted that I occasionally snore (and by "noted" I mean "would smother me with a pillow if she weren't so groggy because of the fact that"), so I made an appointment with a sleep specialist, who, after hearing my response to a number of questions about my sleep habits, suggested I go to the sleep center for a study.


The sleep center I went to is conveniently located in the same building where I work. I packed an overnight bag and bid adieu to the wife and kids in the early evening as they were chortling to the madcap groin-injury antics of America's Funniest Home Videos and arrived at the sleep center by 8:15. It almost felt as if I were being kicked out of the house, and the family seemed as happy to see me go as if that were really the case.


I sighed when I arrived at the center, realizing that driving to my office on a Sunday evening took less than half as long as my normal morning commute.

WELCOME TO "HOTEL WIRED-UP"
I was met by a calm, Indian fellow (he could have been Pakistani or Sri Lankan for all I knew, but you get the idea) in blue scrubs. Harold, as I'll call him, led me to my bedroom, a windowless cell that was part hotel room, part hospital room, and part something-out-of-1984 (there was a videocamera in a corner), as you can see from the above photo. On a chair was a long survey I had to fill out, and on the bed were a bunch of wires that looked like C-3PO's intestines. Plus, on the wall, was this:


This picture was as wide as a couch and likely intended to provide a reassuring presence in an otherwise clinical environment, but it kind of unnerved me. The flowers sort of look like they're screaming in pain. I could think of any number of images that would be more soothing, including:


Harold left me to get ready for bed and fill out the survey. I donned a pair of pajama bottoms, but I tried to imagine Harold's reaction if he returned to learn that I enjoyed sleeping in the nude.

The television was on, but I had muted it. When Harold returned and began to wire me up, he seemed a little confused that I didn't have the sound on, and he turned it up. I didn't argue, but I wanted to ask him why he insisted on the sound being on while he ran the wires. Perhaps it was a good distraction to discourage conversation.

Harold ran a couple of wires down my legs, attaching them to two electrode thingies on each calf. He then slapped two on my chest, and several on my head, followed by a breathing tube thing that wrapped around the front of my face. I don't think it was a real breathing tube in the classic sense, because the tubes just barely entered my nostrils. Unfortunately, I was unable to snap a picture of my head, but all I could think of was William Hurt in Alerted States:

After my wiring was completed, I went to the bathroom one last time, then Harold led me to the bed, where he hooked all my wires up to some kind of receiver that was connected to a machine, as well as a wire to my forefinger with a small red lightbulb that made me resemble ET's human cousin. He showed me where to press a button in the event I needed assistance, now that I was confined to the bed, then he said good night and shut off the light.

The TV was still on, so I channel-surfed a bit, stopping at the Spanish-language-dubbed version of Alvin and the Chipmunks, which taught me that the sped-up high-pitched "chipmunk" talk is like 100 times funnier in Spanish and that David Cross is 100 times funnier when he sounds like Antonio Banderas, before settling on that Next Food Network Star show.

DARK NIGHT OF THE TIRED SOUL
But I watched only about 10 minutes of that before I was like, Let's get this over with, and turned off the TV.

It was not easy to fall asleep with all that junk on my head (it was also a couple of hours earlier than I usually retire), but I think it helped that I sleep on my back and don't roll around a lot -- you don't get a lot of range with those wires.

I woke up three or four times. I didn't have any freakout moments, as I was always aware of where I was, but the wires on my head felt like there a large but skinny hand holding me down. One time I had to press the summon-Harold button to unhook me so I could take a leak.

It was shortly before morning that I had what I'll call, for the purposes of this particular post (as well as tomorrow's) The Dream. More on that tomorrow.

3 comments:

  1. I didn't sleep AT ALL during my sleep study. Then they kicked me out at 5 am. And my results came back NORMAL. WTH?

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  2. I think this has a psychological effect where sleep
    conditions is based on comfort and peace of mind. In this case, knowing that you are being studied is unnerving.

    ReplyDelete