As I noted a while back, I went in for another sleep apnea test, all attached to cords and wires and stuff and had a terrible night’s sleep. Yesterday finally I had my appointment with the pulmonary guy who specializes in apnea. My blood pressure was up of course since being within ten feet of a doctor plunges me into an anxiety ridden state.
But hell this time the news was good I suppose. No more apnea, according to the test, so said the doctor. All gone. My sleep efficiency is sort of lower at 73%, meaning I had trouble getting to sleep and I may have returned to consciousness a few times during the night of that test, but I am no longer suffocating myself to death with my own tongue, soft palette and uvula attached.
That’s a relief—I can’t describe the hell I went through with those damn sleep apnea masks. Burping, farting, hissing noises in the mask, lash marks across my face from trying to tighten the things so I wouldn’t hear those hissing noises. And I would wake up sometimes with the tube attached to the masked wrapped clean around my neck. But I stuck it out because clearly the apparatus helped to clear up the dark fatigue I was feeling at that time.
Then I began to lose weight. I am convinced of course that the weight loss is due to some disease eating me up inside and that I am slowly wasting away, due either to that disease or pre-mature aging. I got up to 202. I was watching the protein, but not the carbs and I didn’t know the med I was on at the time, Effexor, was a known weight gain promoter. Then I cut back on the carbs, started eating all kinds of green stuff, and got off the Effexor, and whap! Since spring of last year (2006) I dropped 40 pounds. At least I was at 162 pounds yesterday (so that would be 40) though I have learned that weight can vary two pounds or better depending on one’s bowel movement cycle.
So the weight loss seems to have cleared the apnea issue. But that still leaves the snoring problem. I wake Carol up with that snoring, so the doctor gave me a referral to see the ear, noise and throat people to see if they think cutting off some of my soft palette and my uvula would help with that. I sure don’t like waking Carol up but swear and be damn if I am going to have them hack at my soft palette, which according to the doctor, goes “all the way back” in my case. Where else is it supposed to go but all the way back I wondered?
Goddamn that soft palette that goes all the way back and that enormous uvula!
If it ain’t one thing it’s another. And I am still dragging my ass from point A to point B possibly because as the doctor indicated—and I know anyway—depression is associated with fatigue.
So I am back to square one, but, happily, without a sleep apnea mask. Now when I go through the air port security thing, I won’t have to led off to the side while they check to see if the cpap (that’s the machine that pumps the air into the tube that goes into the mask) is a bomb.
Now does that look like a happy camper? Or what?