Keep that Sense of Humor, It's Imperative

There have been numerous reports that government agencies have no sense of humor. I can attest to the fact that they surely do. Case in point - my 'sleep study' that took up all of my Saturday night last night. Anyone calling that process a 'sleep study' is either under the influence of an intoxicating substance, or has a sense of humor.

Showing up at the hospital at 7:00 when they need to see you at 9:30 is the first joke. I suppose they wish to leave one plenty of time to get lost in that vast metropolitan rabbit warren that they call a hospital. Sadly, I was one of those people blessed with enough of a sense of direction to know my right from left. That put me in my hospital room at 7:15 after the usual speedy check-in process. I was informed that I could sit there and read, or 'go wherever' until 9:00, when they would like me to change into my P.J.'s. Fortunately I brought along some great reading material, a couple of manuscripts written by Whit Haydn, and the Ostrich Factor by Gerald Edmundson.

There I was, resplendent in my maroon plaid jammies, awaiting a visit by the resident medical expert. I had to settle for a really happy guy, who hooked me up to the EKG machine, taking no care whatsoever as to how much hair he tucked into those contacts. I was to find out that good news when I got them ripped off this morning - but I'm ahead of myself. He finished by putting an irritating sticky thing on my right fingertip (ensuring that he tucked my fingerpick (fingernail) downward as he did), and another across the front of my face. That one was supposed to measure inhalations through the nose or something. Finally a sticky at the base of my throat, (measures snoring) once again amidst a nice, tender patch of hair. Oh yeah, you might be wondering what he was happy about - his shift was ending - and here I thought I was being charmingly funny. He advised me to hit the sack at around ten, because another sadist, er, therapist would be in at about midnight. "For what?" I asked, and he replied that there was another machine that would figure into my 'sleep study.'

Turns out I wasn't able to sleep, with the EKG paper SLAPPING the floor next to my head every two or three minutes, and the shouting and high fiving among the staff in the hallway. As excited as they sounded, they apparently only see each other once or twice a decade. In any case, my authoritative respiratory therapist arrived at midnight, to do his very official and officious best to piss me off. Oh, I'm sorry, did I type that in? I thought I was just thinking about it. Mr. Authority on all things respiratory hooked me up to this thing that looked like the creature at the beginning of Aliens. remember that thing that was wrapped around the guy's head, and when they tried to cut it off, its blood was acid that burned through several decks of the spaceship? That's what I looked like. I was just about that miserable too, as air was rushing into my nostrils much faster than I knew what to do with it. If I tried to inhale through my nose, and exhale through my mouth (I thought it would work, don't make fun) I found out that the air was still pouring into my nose, blowing me up like a fat, hairy balloon. I managed to snarfle out a question to Mr. Wonderful, who, by the way, wasn't giving up any information without a specific question. I'll paraphrase my question; "Excuse me sir, how do I manage to have this on my face, stay alive, and maintain my sanity without ripping it off and throwing it at you?" He recommended I 'breathe normally' and everything would be Okay. Folks, that is like saying to drink normally while Mr. Torture has a fire hose in your mouth. Finally I was able to elicit the instruction to breath in and out through my nose! Oh, I should do both through my nose, well, that makes it downright comfy. His parting shot, in the event I wasn't miserable enough, was to tell me that he and his minions would be in every thirty minutes throughout the night to turn up the pressure.

They were as good as their promise, and increased the torture through the whole night. I layed there, trying to stay sane, resisting my natural urge to bolt from the bed, running out of the hospital with this creature on my face, and its tail whipping behind me. At six this morning I asked the young lady when I could get the monster off of my face, and she told me that my sentence had been commuted by the governor, and I was being given an early release. As soon as she, with great vigor, divested me of as much bodily hair as possible by ripping off the EKG pads, I donned my clothing and hit the bricks. I wanted so badly to sit in the parking lot and sleep, but the entire family was sixty miles away, and counting on me to get home to take them to church. First stop, Starbucks, second stop, home. We made it to church on time for a change, and I have managed to stay mostly awake all day.

Sleep study - imagine that '8)