An Open Letter to Phyllis:
Thank you so much for your help on Sunday night. You were funny and friendly, even despite my having to ask for clarification about the sex questions. (Have I noticed a decrease in sexual performance lately? Well, that would require a baseline that consists of actual sexual activity. My hand seldom disappoints, if that matters any to you....)
As Cincy Diva guessed with astounding accuracy (Steve was quite close too), I went in for a sleep study at Georgetown on Sunday night. Gay sleep disorder, be damned!
Oh, but that this were me....
I wanted to thank you, Phyllis, for being so nice and friendly during my ordeal. Okay, so "ordeal" is probably an overly strong word, but you have to admit, undergoing a sleep study isn't as fun as it may sound. I didn't expect a night at the Ritz, but I must say sleeping with all those damned wires protruding from all over my face, head and neck was kind of difficult. (That made it particularly funny when you piped up on the intercom that I should feel free to roll over onto my side if I wanted to. This would not have been particularly easy.)
You even woke me up in the middle of the night. Usually this would piss me off, seeing as I have a hard enough time getting a decent night's sleep anyway, but you did so because some of those gazillion sensors detected that I was having some trouble lapsing into restorative sleep and/or I was snoring. You slapped a CPAP machine over my face (again, not the epitome of comfort), but I dealt with it.
I actually felt pretty good for the rest of the day after you awoke me at the ungodly hour of 6:45 a.m. (By the way, uh, yanking those sensors you taped to my legs within minutes after I woke up, uh, well, that kinda hurt. I kinda like my moderately hairy legs. Now there's a bald patch on them.) I didn't fall asleep at work at all the next day (and I fully expected I would, because I usually do). Even though I was not machine-assisted last night and hit the snooze button excessively today too, I am still doing okay today.
But the big news is that I made an appointment with my doctor. I've timed it so that it should fall around the same time he gets your report, so he can go ahead and tell me what he thinks and whether he should write me a prescription for the CPAP. Personally, if I can't get a man into my bed now, I can't imagine I'll be all that much sexier sleeping with a X-wing missile guidance system strapped to my face ("Use the Force, Luke!" -- "Luke, you've disengaged your guidance system, is everything okay?"), but screw it if it means a good, long night's sleep!
If only this were my bedpartner who isn't repulsed by a gas mask on my face as I sleep....
Anyway, here's to better nights of sleep to come.
Thanks again, Phyllis. You made an unpleasant evening that much more endurable.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
An Open Letter to Phyllis: