Good Gertie, all the butterflies, moths and long-legged crane flies (those things that look like giant skeeters) have been set loose, for Pandora's box has been dropped from a few stories up, folks. I breathe more at night than I do during the day. After a visit to Respiratory Therapist Maureen, I find that I have been waking close to 280 times a seven-hour night in search of oxygen. Now I have a little automated mechanical friend that pumps air into me, along with a warm spray of humidity. Three nights of this, so far. And yes, I have more energy during the day along with memory and other good things like recognition of familiar objects. It ain't all there yet, but it is on the way. I can see it.
I was concerned that the cats would no longer sleep with head-harnessed me, all plasticky tubing and air pilot mask. Har. They love it; Kai found a position on the warm hose--but not for long, and Crackhead--oh, I mean, Princess Snowbelle--thought the whole tube business was an expensive cat toy, whack whack whack. My good girls.
My lungs are now working the graveyard shift; it's as if I deliberately have to push and pull respiration in and out, and for heaven's sake, wonder if I breathe enough during the day. A side effect of this treatment besides extreme hat-head, is that I am pumped full of air since my brain is still learning to keep my mouth closed. Save the clever remarks for when you see me. The result is, I have enough gas that I could drive myself home without the car through propulsion. Watch for me on the 33. Once the brain learns, this will end. Sooner would be nice.
It solves a lot of problematic situations, and hopefully, will continue forward. Do you imagine what it feels like to find that you are not crazy? Possibly this could have been found out earlier if I slept around and got complaints of the snoring. Trade-offs, what can I say?
But here I am in Dreamville, how iconic is that? Premonition? Intuition? A view through the haze of hypopnea? It's not something developed overnight, I believe I have had this most of my life from childhood on. It sure do explain the dizzy spells.
I can't wait to hitch to my little Ondine, my Remiel, my Ocean. Dreams are said to become vivid--not yet for me, but I do briefly remember Bela Lugosi appearing. There was another scene where I was opening windows, pulling down curtains to let in the light. Opening my life, perhaps.
You sleep well also, I hope. Here's a debate: Maureen the therapist said that if apnea were diagnosed more often, the doctors wouldn't be able to sell as many pills as they do. It's fair enough common, yet we don't see treatments advertised on television. Can I tell you that I take blood pressure, cholesterol, thyroid and antidepressant meds, all related to the effects presented by apnea? Interesting to see if the blood pressure goes down since the heart doesn't have to work as hard to supply oxygen to my starving brain. What a world.
Peace, sea, ocean salt, diatoms, waves; neap and ebb tides. Look for the siphon holes in wet sand telling of clams pushing water through gills, of life breathing in mudflats as water rushes back to high tide. I am a clam, breathing under the cover of night, my siphon connected to sources of wind and water. Cockle, mussel, oyster, scallop. Sleep tight as a clam, my loves.
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