My Worst Fear

Sooner or later it happens to all of us. I’m in my very first “home health care” store. You know, the ones with the crutches and bedpans in the window. I’m waiting for my appointment with James, who is going to set me up with a CPAP machine (CPAP stands for “Continuous Positive Airway Pressure”), which is used for sleep apnea. I recently found out that I’m sleep deprived (no wonder I’m tired all the time), and have been prescribed one of these machines as the most effective way of treating it. The machine forces air down your lungs and prevents the bronchioles and alveoli from collapsing. Sounds like fun!

As I wait for James, I look around me at the section for continence supplies, leg braces, La-Z-Boy lift chairs. The store is hushed and quiet—no loud music or bold colors–except for the shiny electric scooters lined up along the wall. The only attempt at marketing is sign: Close-out Sale on for Pull-up Briefs (25% off!!!). I can’t help but think of the collective emotional and physical pain associated with all these devices.

Finally I’m greeted by James, an overweight man of about fifty, dressed in black shoes, black pants, and a black shirt. He ushers me into a cramped office with a table, a chair and equipment all over the room. Above me there are two shelves of dummy heads with CPAP masks on. I try to be nonchalant as I look at these images out of a horror film. A part of me is saying, “I’m going to have to wear one of those. This can’t be happening!”

James sits opposite me and proceeds to demonstrate how the CPAP machine works (it’s about the size of a small Kleenex box—a quite fascinating piece of engineering). He finally gets to the part where he fits the mask. “I’d like to try the Mirage FX mask on you. It’s one of our latest. I think you’ll like it.” Wow–Mirage FX–I expect a sleek, shiny sports model. Instead it’s a triangular clear piece of plastic that goes over my nose and is held on by gray straps that fit over my head. Shades of Hannibal Lecter and Man In the Iron Mask.

As he slips the mask over my head, I breathe in the noxious smell of new plastic. This may kill me before my sleep apnea does. James turns on the machine, and I feel a blast of air coming in my nose and down my throat. Imagine fitting a hose to the back of your vacuum cleaner, turning on the vacuum—and then trying to sleep—and you’ll get the idea!

Despite all my misgivings, the thought of getting a good night’s sleep—and for once not being tired—keeps me going. Curiosity and a positive attitude can get you through all most anything. It’s totally astonishing what we all can adapt to. If we resist, we’re dead.

Once I get home I set up my new toy next to my bed. It’s now 10 PM and I’m about to give it my first try. Wish me luck.