sleep study

A bed in an institution – I am here in bed, with wires coming out of me in every direction. Some are colored wires. They measure my brain, my heart, my sleeping, everything. Somebody is watching, very closely.

The room has a fan – this is comforting. So are two pictures of tropical beaches – the idyllic life, which I know so little of, but which beckons to me from the picture. White sand, turquoise sea, young healthy palms, sun and breeze – somebody, here, is enjoying a good life, though I don’t see anyone in the pictures.

No thanks to the television – sometimes, I’m in a motel, and I’ll turn one on, but, in my ordinary life, I shun them, and they sometimes actually disturb me. I’ll watch the news or something, and it’ll make me upset. In this case, I wonder if the machines would pick up my blood boiling.

The sleep study place is actually in the town where I work, 13 miles down the hill from where I live. The altitude is quite different – we are at about 3400 here, but I live at 8700. The nurse says, yes, it is an issue, and you might want a sleep study done up in the mountains, closer to the elevation you’re used to. Up there, we sleep with the windows open, from May until about September, and it’s rained a lot, if that has anything to do with anything. Down here, it’s the desert – the hot, intense sun beats every day – and I’m surprised that it’s so pleasant at night. I was used to this place as always being sun-baked.

I’m ready to sleep already. If they can tell me how I snore, how I sleep, what happens, I’m all for it. I’ll wear one of those masks at night – I’ll do what they advise me. If it makes me sleep better, I’m in.