The problem with living like a libertine is that eventually the devil catches up with you. Mind you my boozy debauchery is endearingly light compared to others, but nonetheless there are biological ramifications that I am slowly becoming aware of. Yes, I'm talking to you, Ms. Beer Belly.
It's a hard reality when you realize that you can't remember what it felt like to be properly rested and when low energy and hangovers become the norm. Today I finally got the call from the sleep clinic to let me know that my test results were ready. Straining to understand through the doctor's thick accent, the extent of my sleep apnea became clear. Actually it is quite severe.
"Do you drive?" asked the doctor.
"No, I don't drive." Small lie since I've driven Ms. K's car, but people who drive in New York City are a rarity.
"We advise that people with this severe a case of sleep apnea refrain from driving because they have a higher chance of falling asleep while driving."
Oh.
"I will write a prescription for you and someone will call you in seven days to set up an appointment to deliver your CPAP mask for a fitting."
Seven days? SEVEN DAYS?! You just told me that I have "severe" sleep apnea, which by my trusty internet research tells me that I stop breathing 30 or more times an hour. These pauses in breathing can be for 10 seconds or more, the point in which oxygen levels in the blood start to decrease and all sorts of bad things can happen. So now I have to wait another seven days before I can start having a normal, restful sleep again?? I'm not exactly hearting this delay. Nor is my oxygen deprived brain. Poor, poor brain.
So with this news and the fact that I'm staring down that last year of my 20s, I'm beginning to realize that, perhaps, my rock star days are waning. Yes, time to take better care of myself because, you know, I've been in need of some singular focus in my life now that OFAG is over. Even before I got my test results today I had been thinking that it's time to put some work into me. Yesterday's lunchtime pedicure wasn't a bad start, and as the man at the pedicure station massaged my feet, I thought this isn't that bad. I should get people to massage me more often.
I was even further inspired when leafed through a battered copy of Vanity Fair and read of Christopher Hitchens's attempt to shock & awe his way back to a healthy regimen. Despite the fact that Hitchens is a neocon apologist douchebag, I liked his highly literate and witty observations on the deconstruction of his bad habits and the lengths to temper them with good ones. He started out his regimen with a trip to a Four Seasons spa. However I will have to start mine with a sleep apnea mask. In seven days.
Is this the start of Operation Pimp My Body?
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2 comments:
I just want to forwarn you, the CPAP machine and the heinous mask that goes with it probably won't equal instant restful sleep. Though I truly hope it does, chances are good that you will have a few uncomfortable nights roughing it until you adjust to the mask. But as I said I hope you take to it like a fish to water.
La
I wasn't traumatized by turning 30, but I did notice a shift to a little more wisdom. I still go out and drink, but I don't like to feel like shit the next morning - so I don't slam back the shots. Mani/pedis? Massages? Facials? Bring 'em all on, I say.
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