Sleep Therapy Thoughts

After playing too long with my new mp3 player, I wandered to the wrong site for the sleep study. A panicked cab ride later, I was at the right site. After calling again (feeling very foolish by now) I found myself in front of any other nurses' station, operated by an efficient fleet of nurses. With practiced, plastic professional pleasantness, one checked me in.

The room was a cross between a hundred-dollars-a-night small hotel room and a thousand-dollars-a-night private hospital room (aside from the ceiling mounted camera and IR emitter array. At least they didn't try to hide it or something.) Both had calming and subdued hues: an offensive blue-grey carpet, a deep-yet-still-vibrant green wall treatment. Like both types of rooms, the ceiling was white. So the same with the adjoining three-quarter bath.

The bathroom was unmistakably institutional: A "Pull here for help" cord prominently above the toilet-with-the-swing-down-sprayer-for-the-seat. A second one in the shower. Everything is covered with once-white tile. It's cramped and dim, even with both lights on. The shower liner doesn't work very well, but wiht everything wall-to-wall tile, I wasn't much worried.

Actually, I'm getting ahead of myself here. I didn't shower until the morning. Why? The goo they used to attach the electrodes to my head was the consistency of silly putty. Or bubble gum. (Don't ask me how I know what silly putty or bubble gum feels like in my hair, all right?)

First, I got settled in. Unpacked, etc. The instructions were to not bring a cell phone or computer. Yeah, right. I did obey the spirit and turned off my phone and never turned on my computer. Luckily, they supplied one. Unluckily, it was locked to the "Patient Intake Survey." No, I didn't try to hack it. I'm not that type.

I lost track of how many electrodes they affixed. In part, this was because many of them were on my head, so I couldn't easily see where they were putting them. Let's see, I had a pair on my calves to record muscle twitches. I had one just below my right collarbone, and one at my left lower rib. I'm not sure what they measured. I had an LED taped to my fingertip to measure heartrate and blood oxygen level.

This all (including the remaing electrodes I'll write about later) took approximate 45 minutes to wire up. The technician I and I got to talking, first about kids and Disneyland (I was wearing my Tigger pjs), then what this required. Surprisingly, polysomnography requires only a high school diploma and some certifications. Even more surprisingly, it draws from and branches into EEG technician and pulmonology technician training as well, because this branch of medicine measures brain waves as well as breathing.

They had a neat way to measure it, too. I had two elastic bands around my chest and belly to measure muscle movement while breathing. Those bands had a zigzag of wire through them, and supposedly the flex in the bends as the elastic stretched changed the resistance enough they could measure it.

Oh, and the head 'trodes. One on my forehead, one each behind my ears, and two on the upper side 'corners' of my skull (no, my head does NOT have corners, but just imagine what I mean, all right?) I think one at the base of my skull too, but I'm not sure. They weave all the 22-gauge wire into an ganglion, then run it to a plugboard that they mount to the wall.

At this point, I can't leave the bed without either yanking wires free of the plugboard or dismounting the plugboard (and probably redlining many sensors in their nurses' station.) I'm already used to and am using a CPAP (Constant Positive Air Pressure) mask, something that blows air into my nose while I sleep. The CPAP machine they I used that nigh had the pressure remotely resettable, so they're able to modify the amount of air pressure throughout the night.

That is, once I get to sleep.

On the plus side, I feel that I am more 'free' to sleep than at home. At home, I'm surrounded not only by constant reminders of chores to do and books to read (for work, no less) I'm also constantly reminded of the possibility of getting up and doing something constructive. Instead, I usually get up and log on to while away time on blogs and fora and email and ... etc.

On the minus side, I'm in a different room, different sheets, pillows, etc. And there're all those darned wires. Lastly, the CPAP setting they're using is different than the one I'm used to, and the machine is louder. Fortunately, I had the foresight to bring earplugs along, and they supply me with a blindfold. Still, even with the senses muted, I think I still lie awake for 45 minutes or so before finally drifting off.

Oh, I'm getting ahead of myself once more. I'm wired up, and they leave. Then, through the intercom, they ask me to perform some simple movements for them to calibrate their sensors: move only one leg, then only the other; leaving my head motionless, stare straight ahead, blink five times, look to the left and to the right, then up and down. Finally, they have me smile (huh?) and say that's it, I could sleep.

Once I got to sleep, it was nice. I think I remember waking up once or twice, but drift back before I could remember anything else. Next thing I know, the technician is tapping my hand, telling me it's 6AM and they tracked the 8 hours of readings they needed. She also pointed me at the computer, now with a Patient Outtake Survey.

For someone who worked a 13-hour shift, she didn't look half as sleepy as I did. Yes, thirteen. The monitors work three days a week, thirteen hours a shift. And I thought I worked long hours. (Overall, I may beat her. Then again, my boss once logged 110+ hours in a week. And there's only 168 total.)

After disconnecting me (hint: tape comes off easier if you rip than slowly peel), I took my shower and had to fight the Goo Monster. Actually, they came out pretty easily in warmish water. Too bad it took forever to get warm water out of that shower. I probably will still have them in my hair if I took a cold shower.

I don't drive, so I asked the tech if she could print me out a bus trip planner from the hospital back home. While she did so, I took a quick look around the nurses' station. I wasn't surprised to see a television monitor for every room, and a bank of wavy lines for some. I could hear some of the other technicians gently announcing the morning to their patients.

A quick bus ride later, and I was home. The rest of Clan Kitty were still in their pjs, and I wish I was as well. I'm still tired, but it's the tired after a good night of rest, I think. Too bad I had a mountain of laundry and a small (but pungent) heap of dishes waiting for me.

So, that's me and my trip to the sleep therapy lab. Aren't you glad it's not bad news?