by rod lott
Pardon my yawning, but I can't sleep.
Actually, I can sleep, but it takes me hours to get there. I twist and turn,
I moan and groan, I tell the inconsiderate bastards in the hallway at two in
the morning to shut the hell up. Yet nothing seems to help. My condition is so severe that it is the
polar opposite of narcolepsy; at any given point during the day,
without warning, I am wide awake.
Is it stress? Financial woes? Affairs of the heart? Those ugly 'Nam
flashbacks? Or perhaps it's that recurring nightmare in which I give birth to
The Fly. What's a man to do?
| STEP ONE: ADMITTING THE PROBLEM |
Regardless of the cause, help is available. But first, I had to admit that I had a problem and needed help. Not knowing just where to turn, I happened upon a copy of a local hospital's physician directory. This handy-dandy publication was bubbling over with such breakthrough medical info
as "If it is necessary to kill the animal, the head should be kept intact
and refrigerated (but not frozen) for brain analysis."
After wading through more useful tips, I found what I was looking for, in the
form of a quiz, entitled "Do You Suffer from a Sleep Disorder?" The directions
encouraged me to "take this simple test," so I did. Here are but a few of the
questions, with my answers following.
Q: Do you sweat excessively during the night?
A: Depends. While I'm asleep, no.
Q: Do you experience your heart pounding or beating irregularly during the
night?
A: See above answer.
Q: Do you seem to be losing your sex drive?
A: Are you kidding? I'm in my twenties!
Q: Do you feel that you must cram a full day into every hour to get
anything done?
A: Buddy, not only do I feel it, I know it.
Q: Are you ever told that you kick at night?
A: Sadly, no.
Unfortunately, this sub-Cosmo test did not enable me to pinpoint my problem,
which only worried me further. If I were inflicted with nocturnal myoclonus or a severe case of sleep apnea, I think I'd like to know as soon as possible.
| STEP TWO: SEEKING PROFESSIONAL HELP |
Thus, I made an appointment with one Dr. O.H. Rundell, director of said local
hospital's Sleep Disorders Center, and scheduled an overnight sleep study.
This would entail constant monitoring of my biological functions throughout
the night. The morning of my study, I went to Dr. Rundell's office for a
pre-game chat.
He had sent me some questionnaires to fill out and bring along. Some of the
questions seemed to have little — if anything — to do with sleep ("Do your
ankles ever swell? Do you have trouble getting shoes on and off?") and one,
in which I was to pick the most correct statement, seemed downright perverse:
"I don't feel I am being punished."
"I feel I may be punished."
"I expect to be punished."
"I feel I am being punished."
(For the record, I chose the first.)
As instructed upon arrival, I went to the admitting desk to be escorted to the Sleep Disorders Center. A blonde named Amy was working the desk, and she had a little trouble getting me admitted, but she was beautiful, God bless her.
"What are you here for?" she asked, in a voice so satin-sweet I prayed she didn't mistake my yawn for indifference.
"A sleep study," I answered, hesitantly, to which she probably thought, "Loser." After all, if you can't sleep, what can you do right?
In our probing interview, Dr. Rundell asked me some more questions, such as
whether I ever fell asleep at inappropriate times (i.e. during sex or driving). I
said I had no such problems.
"We're all set to go then," he said. "Come back tonight. And bring a pillow."
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