Anatomy Of A Sleep Study

 Over the past 4-5 years, my sleep pattern has become something this side of awful.  I have no problem falling asleep thankfully, having trained myself that caffeine after 0900 and more than a single serving of alcohol is enough to destroy my sleep for the night.  What is not so great is the fact that I inevitably wake up after 4 to 5 hours of sleep and, if I do not manage to fall asleep in the following minute or so, am essentially up for 2 hours, finally drifting in and out until my alarm goes off at 0500.

I did an "at home" sleep study in December (oxygen monitor for the finger that bit like a moray eel and a heart electrode), but it was "inconclusive".  At best, it noted I had less than five "events" per hour, which puts me outside the need for intervention like a CPAP.  However, the home tests are not considered best practice (they only catch the major cases) and so I was scheduled for an in-hospital sleep study.

The process itself is an adventure:  a call in January got me an appointment at the end of March. Once or twice I received a call about an opening that day, hardly the sort of thing I can rearrange my schedule to meet.  And so, the days counted down until the scheduled date.

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My initial arrival at the hospital was fraught with annoyance:  I parked in front of what I thought was the right building, then second guessed myself and moved to the next parking structure (both thankfully empty, it being Sunday and all).  My second guess turned out to be the wrong one, and so I dutifully trudged back up to the correct entrance - only to find that entrance was closed for evening.  So, back to the original entrance I walked.  Apparently I have the ability to see into the future, although it manifests itself in odd ways.

It is weird being in a hospital in off hours. The kind nurse at the desk directed me down a long hallway devoid of people at the relatively early hour of 1930, my footsteps sounding hollow in the long linoleum hallway.  A right turn past the in-hospital Starbucks (closed at night), one mis-guess at the correct floor on the elevators, and I was at the Sleep Center:  a small waiting room of non-descript beige, apparently the favourite colour of this hospital designer.

With five minutes of my arrival, I was assigned to a room (3) and a nurse ("J"), a pleasant young man likely in his 30's.  We went through a short questionnaire, he asked me to change into my pajamas, and then he would "wire me up".

The room itself - another study in beige - was decent and clean; I have certainly slept in hotel rooms that were less pleasant.  The bed as I sat on it was firm enough of a mattress that it would not be a problem, the sheets and thin bedcover the ubiquitous beige.  A closet for items, a sink for washing, and a door to a large-ish bathroom (also in beige) with a toilet and shower completed my abode for the night.

I changed into my pajamas and, as requested, ran two leads with electrodes down each of my pants legs.  In a few moments J was back, and we began the wiring in process.

This was my first experience at having this kind of monitoring and I found it fascinating.  Gel and attachments secured all of the electrodes to my legs (for restless leg monitoring).  Two "belts" around my torso for breathing.  Then, my head was measured and a series of electrodes attached on my face, the back of my ears, my neck, and on and about my head.  By the end, I appeared as Frankenstein's monster, all of my electrodes wired into a small box (seen above) that I could carry around with me.  The final wiring, J assured me, would take place when I was ready to go to sleep.

The last hour before sleep was spent reading (Ecclesiastical History Of The English People by Bede), journaling, and fielding a phone call from Uisdean Ruadh about a plumbing issue (13 more days as a landlord, I mutter to myself).  At 2050, J appeared for the final attachments, an oxygen monitor for the finger (a reasonable grasp, unlike the moray eel I had in December) and throat monitor for sound.  He "plugged me in", and I was ready to start.

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The actual starting process itself is interesting.  It is programmed, as it probably must be so that they have a "start" and an "end".

The room itself is recorded with video and audio, including an infrared camera (sadly, one does not get a copy of the recording).  Lying in the dark, you go through a series of motions:  eyes open without blinking, eyes shut, eyes moving up and down three times, eyes moving left and right three times, the moving of each foot, breathing through the nose and then the mouth, taking a deep breach and moving your abdomen in and out quickly.  With that - after a last minute band change around my torso to replace a malfunctioning band - I was ready to start.

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As to the sleep, it was...well, normal.  Likely 4-5 hours, then awake, then in and out until around 0400 or so.  My rule of thumb at home is that I stay in bed until my rising time to combat the encroachment of anything like Sundowner's syndrome - but there was the sense I needed to use the bathroom.  Not usually a problem, except in this case I would have to have J come in and unplug me.  I waited until around 0430, then called it.  

He had to check to see if he had enough data.  As he did, he had me go through the same set of exercises to end the session and them came in to strip me of my wires, which took considerably less time than the assembly of them.

As he pulled them off, we had a brief chat - obviously as a nurse, he cannot make a diagnosis (and having had friends that were radiologists and hearing their stories about seeing X-rays with clear indications of cancer but being unable to tell the patients that, I respect that), but he did have some feedback: Yes, I am a confirmed back sleeper.  No, I did not initially seem to have the sorts of events that might require a CPAP.  

We briefly discussed the results and when they would available and he left me with a form to fill out.  Within 10 minutes I was changed and out the door.

The hospital, if anything, was even more deserted than when I arrived.  As I passed the Starbucks, someone was already there, getting ready for the morning at hand.

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Walking out of the hospital with my now-apparently genius location of my car, I looked up and saw the full moon, softly faded like a mellow cheese in the morning clouds, looking all the world like a Autumn Moon instead of the pre-Spring moon that I was anticipating.  I stood there for a moment, watching it and regretting the fact that for all of the miracles of the modern Computer In My Pocket, I still cannot take real pictures of the moon as I would like.

Sighing, I headed back towards the car.  A The Cat and J The Rabbit were all waiting at home patiently for me to arrive, and there was a coffee and a shower with my name on it.