After seeing Dr. Chan, the nice podiatrist, I scurried across town to the x-ray place where I had a pleasant session with what seemed to be a very lonely x-ray technician.  She sent me packing with the pictures of my feet which I was to return to Dr. Chan in a couple of weeks.

Alas, snag!  I’ve been actually Denied clinical orthopedic shoe inserts by my medical insurance company!  I wonder why?  They don’t think heel pain is important?

Snag deux!  Chan put me on Naproxen, an anti-inflammatory, to help with the feet, and boy did it ever help.  Unfortunately it also turned out to be EXACTLY the kind of medicine that wreaks havoc with my poor corroded stomach lining, making my already bad anemia worse.

Exit the Naproxin.  I’ll live with the pain for now.  Hemaglobin is more important.

The Big Night!!  Only Five to Seven Years Overdue!
Last night was my Sleep Study.

It was such fun.  I had to show up at the Midway Sleep Center at 10:00 p.m. with my “sleep clothes” and a lot of paperwork.  My sleep technician (I’m not sure if she had an actual name) set me up in a perfectly comfortable room which looked like a nicely-appointed hotel room (but no television).  She then proceeded to hook me up to about twenty-five sensors.  I had them on my head (even in my hair, ick), face, and all over my body.  I had a contraption strapped under my nose.   I had a strap tightly wound around my chest.  I had a pulse reader on my finger.  All of this was connected to a board of wires that had to go with me if I left the bed to go to the (down the hall, thanks) bathroom.

Hell, who couldn’t drift easily and immediately off to sleep in such a setup?!

At least none of this was a surprise.  The big surprise was hearing that at some point in the night my S.T. might come into my room and put the actual CPAP mask on and make me sleep with the CPAP machine!

Say What?

At this point it occurs to me that I should define two important terms.

Sleep Apnea is the repeated stopping of breathing when you sleep.  It is caused by the airways in the nose and throat being obstructed.  It is very common in older (hello), male (guilty) overweight (my hand is up!) individuals with low muscle tone (oh bite me).   Apnea is very commonly undiagnosed and is very dangerous.  It is bad for the heart, can make diabetes worse, increases your chances for a stroke or heart attack by three times, and can make it almost impossible to lose weight.

Yep, did you hear that last one?  Can make it almost impossible to lose weight.

I knew going into the study that I likely had apnea.  I’ve been sleepy for about ten years.  I fight sleep at work.  I fight sleep behind the wheel.  I fight sleep during Scarlet Johansson movies — no, wait, everyone does that.

A CPAP machine (the initials stand for Continuous Positive Air Pressure) is a very common and successful way of treating sleep apnea.  You basically are wearing a mask connected to a machine which pushes air up your nose to keep those air passages from collapsing.  For years I feared this machine.  I feared its psychological affect on my would be devastating.  Only recently have I realized that not getting any sleep is much worse.
Let Me Introduce You to My Little Friend

Back to the mask.  Before lights out, my Sleep Tech introduced me to it and had me try it.  I was surprised by how horrible it wasn’t.  The gentle flow of air felt cool and nice.  ST told me that, after the initial hour or so of sleep, if I “qualified” (yes, that was the term she used), that she’d come in and mask me.

Great.

I had a hell of a time going to sleep.  Maybe it was the fact that it was only 10:30 at night.  Or maybe, just maybe, it was because I was in a strange faux hotel room in a medical building on Olympic Boulevard strapped up to about fifty electrodes knowing that my every sleep nuance was being monitored.

At any rate, at one point in the night ST did come in and did strap the mask on me.  Again, it was surprisingly okay.  The gentle flow of air felt therapeutic.  I drifted off to sleep easily.

ST woke me at 4:45 a.m. to tell me that I was all done.

The Bad News

Duh.  I DO have sleep apnea.  I have severe sleep apnea.  I will probably have to sleep with the CPAP machine for the rest of my natural life.

The Good News

The above bad news was no surprise.  What really worried me was the mask.  Could I tolerate it?  Would it be as big a nightmare as when I was given a mouthpiece to wear from my dentist a few years ago?  That little $750 experiment ended in utter failure.  (YOU try to go to sleep with a huge piece of plastic in your mouth.)

However, praise the angels, I took to the CPAP mask like a Halliburton executive to a no-bid government contract.  Today, after only a few hours of real sleep, I feel better than I have in a long time.  I’m actually looking forward to getting my very own Frankenstein sleeping machine, if it will allow me to rejoin the human race!

Now, the only quesion is this: Now that I’ve had a brief taste of how life feels after real sleep, how, o how will I be able to stand the weeks-long wait until I have a CPAP machine of my very own?!?

Well, I haven’t seen my gastro doctor yet (soon!) but my general doctor has at least put me on iron for my anemia.

Today’s my first day on it.  Good news and bad news.  My head already feels a bit clearer.  Not dramatically better, but better.  I’ll take it!

The bad news is that I’ve had more frequent instances of light-headedness when getting up out of a chair too quickly.  I’ve had that problem the whole time I’ve been anemic.  But today it was especially acute.

We’ll see what a few days brings.  Hopefully more of the former, less of the latter!

Dr. Chan was a very nice guy who understood my symptoms very well.  I of course have a very common ailment called plantar fasciitis, which basically means your plantar fascia (the thingie that connects your heels to your toe) is inflamed and pissed off.

Treatment will begin with a) an anti-inflammatory drug (yay, a new pill to take) and b) exercises.

In addition, I was to head over to another lab for an x-ray.  Dr. Chan was going to look into special insoles for me and I would see him again in two weeks.  So far, so good.

For the first time in memory, I’m actually excited about going to the doctor.  Never ever thought that would happen.

Why?

Wellll . . . anyone who knows me understands that my primary health factor that needs to improve is my weight.

And I want to work on it.  Really, I do.

However, a trifecta of medical annoyances are conspiring to create a vicious circle thwarting all weight loss efforts.

Since you asked, they are:

1.  Anemia.  This started a couple of years ago.  I have a bit of corroded stomach lining (aspirin).  To treat it I take Prilosec and am supposed to stay away from alcohol (no problem), chocolate (hrmm . . . ) and caffeine (impossible, as will be explained below).

Anemia makes you feel weak as a kitten.  A staircase, one flight, is daunting and defeating.  This feeling does NOT promote interest in exercise.

Plus anemia makes you sleepy.  More on sleepy to come.

2.  Heel pain.

There’s a term for it but I haven’t learned it yet.  It’s common and treatable. I need to get it treated.  But needless to say, if it hurts to walk, exercise is not the highest priority on your mind.

3.  Sleep Apnea.

I’ve believed for years that I suffer from this.  I have resisted going to the doctor about it because I dreaded using the c-Pap machine to sleep.  I’m over that now.  I need some freaking sleep.

So I have TWO conditions that make me sleepy.  Getting sleepy during the day is bad.  I totaled my car last year because of this.  I’m damn lucky I didn’t hurt anyone. I fall asleep at work. Not good.  I fall asleep in movies, even good movies.  Not good.

So because of sleepiness I have to caffeinate, which in turn makes the anemia worse.

See what I mean about the vicious circle?

SO.  Thursday I see my GP.  I’m going to walk in loaded for bear and really try to run the meeting.
“Get me appointments with the gastroenterologist (anemia), the podiatrist/orthpedic surgeon (the heel thing) and the Sleep Lab (apnea) STAT.”

I’m convinced that if I can get all three conditions under control, I can make a good effort to reduce my BMI (the dreaded Body Mass Index).

I’m sick of not feeling good and having no energy and being sleepy all the time.  I’m sick of spending my days off in bed sleeping all day.

Of course, there’s the possibility that I could find out I’m wrong, and that my three symptoms are all part of some ghastly terminal illness.  But I don’t expect that.

Updates on the details of my fascinating medical progress will be posted here as they are available.

You don’t expect to find enlightenment at Wendy’s.

I was there this afternoon, the one on Sunset Boulevard right off of La Brea, enjoying a burger after seeing Harold and Kumar Escape From Guantanamo Bay.

The place was crawling with high school students that looked like they were on a field trip or something . .  except I didn’t see any chaperones.

I tried not to let their high-decibel antics harsh my mellow and enjoyed my burger.  However, further irritation came from the table to my left, where a woman was listing an undending litany of complaints to her girlfriend.  Not too loud . . . just consistent, like a mosquito that you can tell is on the other side of the room.

Then the most threatening thing to my burger high of all:  A beggar sauntered into the busy dining room, and began to make his way from table to table.  Great, I thought.  Why doesn’t Wendy’s management stop this guy from bothering their customers?

He got to my table and I gave my usual Get Lost look.  He moved on to Miss Complainy McChatter. “You hungry?” she asked him.

A moment later she was at the counter, buying him lunch.  As she passed by me on the way back to her table, I spoke up.  “Ma’am?”

“Yes.”

“You put me to shame.”

She sat back down and I tried to enjoy the rest of my meal.

I am one of those people, I realized.  One of those assholes who likes to talk about the Big Picture, aspires to own a Prius, is seriously considering buying a reusable grocery bag.  But I’m too lazy and cheap to help someone right in front of me who has an immediate need.

I realized I finally understood the difference between “nice” and “kind.”

“Nice” is when it doesn’t cost you anything.

Great. A new phobia.

Sometimes I think we get crazier as we get older. I’d like to think the opposite is true, but alas, the evidence isn’t pointing that direction.

My new phobia kicks in whenever I get pulled over by a cop.

I don’t know if it’s our current, Bill-of-Rights-Lite administration or just age, but now when the cop stops me I am convinced it’s the Rogue Cop.  The Maniac Cop.  The Cop With Bad Information.  I imagine he’s going to arrest me, hurt me, and worst of all — handcuff me with my hands behind my back.

Why is that worst of all?  I’ll tell you.  I have severe, SEVERE personal-space claustrophobia.  To be restrained like that is simply intolerable for me.  I go crazy.  I foam at the mouth.  I worry that in that state I will not be able to effectively explain to Bubba the Unhinged Cop that I have a condition called claustrophobia and would he please consider maybe even using the handcuffs with my hands in front of my body?  Even that would be better.  I doubt Bubba will listen.  And I will just sit there quietly and have a heart attack.  Like that young man a cop arrested last year who had a bag put over his head and died while trying to explain to an unlistening troglodyte cop that he had asthma.

Does this all sound ridiculous?  Well, I told you it was a phobia.  Phobias aren’t rational by nature.

On the other hand, I assume this is what black men feel every time a cop stops them.

Why does an empty apartment look smaller than one full of stuff?

Okay.  I’ve hooked up with my medical group’s dietician.  Yesterday I joined a gym and today I purchased a slate of personal training sessions that I cannot afford.

The goal?  Lose 110 pounds.

Watch this space for updates.