Do I Have Apnea? Let Me Sleep on It

I couldn’t have asked for a more timely article to appear in the newspaper. A day before I am to meet with a specialist on sleep apnea testing at Mount Sinai Hospital, The New York Times printed an article comparing the experience of one of its staff writers to an in-hospital overnight test with a new home version (http://nyti.ms/1nOF0nZ). 

I had already met with a colleague who assured me (if that is the right term) I was a prime suspect for sleep apnea, a condition “characterized by pauses in breathing or instances of shallow or infrequent breathing during sleep. Each pause in breathing, called an apnea, can last from at least ten seconds to several minutes, and may occur 5 to 30 times or more an hour.”

For one, I snore a lot. Second, my uvula (it’s not as “dirty” as it sounds—it’s the teardrop piece of your body suspended at the back of the upper palate) was larger than normal. When lying down, my uvula inhibits the flow of air. Air vibrating around the uvula can cause snoring. Third, in the past, when napping, I sometimes was startled into alertness with the sensation I had stopped breathing for a moment. 

Four out of 10 adults snore, but when your bedmate finds it interferes with her sleep, it’s time to do something about it, if possible. The first doctor assured me (there’s that word again) something could be done, but only after a test confirmed I indeed suffered from sleep apnea.  

Surgery is an option I will not consider, as it is not always successful. Instead, I could wind up wearing an appliance while asleep that projects the lower jaw forward, creating a wider air pathway as well as encouraging more nasal and less oral breathing. I already wear an appliance on my lower teeth to protect my molars from grinding away enamel, so I don’t expect any resistance to that remedy if it is prescribed.

Few events in my life aren’t blog worthy—heck, it’s cheaper than therapy—so you can look forward to finding out how my snoring issue is resolved, to Gilda’s satisfaction, we both hope.

Sleep, Perchance to Dream

How did you sleep last night? 

If a recent survey of 3,700 people is to be believed, some 10% of you slept as I did, on your back. Almost three-quarters of you (74%) slept on your side. The rest (16%) lay on your tummy. When I was younger I used to sleep on my stomach. Then I gravitated to my side. Recently, I find myself on my back most nights. 

What stimulated this nocturnal revelation is the commemoration of National Sleep Day on Thursday, which prompted a release from Anna’s Linens on a survey of sleeping habits. Anna’s Linens has more than 300 stores spread throughout the country. 

I’m a three-pillow sleeper, a holdover from my nights sleeping on my side. One pillow would be for under my head, another I would cradle around my torso and the third would get tucked between my knees so bone wouldn’t knock against bone. Laugh if you will, but when Gilda attended nursing school and learned the proper way to make a patient comfortable, the instructor described my regimen to a tee. She started giggling in class when she heard this. She confessed to classmates she had always made fun of my sleeping arrangement. Ah, vindication. How sweet.

I might have been able to milk this sentiment had I not been guilty of excessive snoring. Gilda is among the 47% of those who share a bed with someone who snores. Many a night she nudges me to stop sawing wood so she can have a restful sleep.

For a variety of reasons, two-thirds of those surveyed said they enjoy restful sleeps just three nights or less per week. Sunday nights provide the least restful slumber, followed by Mondays. Friday and Saturday nights are the most restful. 

This survey did not reveal how often people have sex, but it did find 8% sleep naked. Another 74% said they wear pajamas in bed, leaving the attire of 18% unaccounted for.

Gilda would tell you I’m forever recounting to her my dreams. Often, after waking up in the middle of the night, I am able to resume a dream when sleep returns. The survey found more than half the respondents said they're able to recall less than one-quarter of their dreams, while approximately 10% said they were able to recall nearly all their dreams from that night's sleep.

Hopefully, this information will not keep you up tonight. 

Father's Day (plus one) Edition

Did you get one of those kitchy SodaStream carbonated water makers for Father’s Day? 

I didn’t. Not that I was pining for one, despite my friend Lloyd’s rave review (actually, I think Lloyd would give anything from Israel a rave review, but that’s between him and the maker). Anyway, hearing all those recent ads for SodaStream evoked memories of Brooklyn in the early 1950s.

Back then, during my pre-school days, vendors stopping by our attached row house on Avenue W were a big deal. The truck of the knife and scissors sharpener would clang its way through the neighborhood about once a month. Every two weeks or so the blue-uniformed man from Brighton Laundry arrived with clean, starched sheets, pillow cases and tablecloths wrapped in a blue paper package. Before heading back to his truck he’d tie our soiled linens in a bundle and throw it over his shoulder.  

No visitor was more welcomed to our home than the seltzer man, with six or more bottles in a wooden crate leveraged on a shoulder. Clear glass bottles, or blue glass, green glass, even the occasional red glass bottle. Inside, vacuum-packed carbonated water, with a nickel-colored metal push lever at the top to discharge soda water for wine spritzers (a standard Friday night libation), scotch and sodas and home-made egg creams made with U-Bet chocolate syrup and milk (for the uninformed, an egg cream has no egg content). 

Whether true or not, I always thought his name was Mr. Seltzer. My brother says it was Chesler, which to a toddler could easily be construed as Seltzer. Anyway, Mr. Seltzer/Chesler was a wiry man, usually unshaven, with a bent to his frame no doubt a condition from always toting heavy cases of seltzer on his shoulders. He was a genial man, usually stopping to gossip a little with my mother.

Perhaps in an economy mood, or because of something he saw on one of his trips to Israel, my father in the late 1950s or early 1960s decided to buy a re-usable water carbonator. The cylinder had a metallic outer layer, with a space at the top for a carbon dioxide canister that was screwed into the dispenser. It was a novelty he showed off a few times to friends. By the time he lost interest in it, Mr. Seltzer/Chesler had retired. From then on we bought bottled seltzer. 

Gilda sent along a link to a story about birth photography in the delivery room (http://www.nytimes.com/2012/06/17/us/now-in-the-delivery-room-forceps-camera-action.html?_r=1). As she pointed out, we were 30 years ahead of the curve.

When Dan was born 33 years ago we were too dazzled to give much thought to taking pictures. We had gone through Lamaze classes for natural childbirth, but were really unprepared for secondary preoccupations. Three years later, however, when Ellie arrived, we were pros and ready for action. I took some great shots of Ellie’s first moments outside the womb. They’re not for the squeamish to see, but they did capture the thrill. 

For those who didn’t get Father’s Day cards, or received some mushy, sentimental card, here are two I opened. The first paid tribute to my nightly sound machine: “It’s Father’s Day. Time to ponder that immortal, philosophical question ... If a dad falls asleep in the woods, does he drive all the woodland creatures insane with his snoring?”

Gilda gave me this card: Happy Father’s Day, Honey! Today belongs to you. No, really. 364 days are plenty for me.”