Wake Up Call

29 mornings ago, I woke up a new woman.  Refreshed.  Energetic.  Clear-headed.  Awake.  

And I made it past 10 AM without needing a nap. 

Me and naps.  We go together like peanut butter and jelly.  Napping was just something I always did – as soon as I was done classes or work, I’d go home and fall asleep in a bean bag chair, a recliner, a couch, a futon, a bed, or a papasan that was probably a stupid purchase but that I had to have.  It kinda became a joke actually, how much I napped, especially on the weekends when I would nap at mid-morning, mid-afternoon, and early evening.    

I thought I was just lazy.  Which was weird because I didn’t feel like I was lazy.

At least I could function.

I never seemed to have much get up and go.  And when I got up and went, it wasn’t for long and it usually ended up with me napping on the couch.

At every doctor’s appointment that I’ve had since college, they would ask how I was feeling.  And I would say – great, except that I always feel tired.  Blood tests indicated that I was perfectly healthy. In college, my doctor told me that it was normal to be tired – I was carrying a full course load and working almost full-time.  After college, it was because I worked third shift.  When I started back to grad school it was because once again I was working and going to school.  When grad school was over, it was because I worked a lot.  Then it was because I got a new job and I was learning the ropes. 

It just seemed like it was just supposed to be this way.  This was just who I was.  But I watched friends and colleagues who worked the same amount I did, some who were juggling kids and jobs and 102 other obligations and who didn’t seem to need a nap when they got home from grocery shopping.

Bt at least I could function. 

Last summer, at my mom's urging, I went for a sleep study to find out if I had sleep apnea.  Sleep apnea is apparently a common problem for people with my syndrome on account of our small airways but I don’t follow the message boards like my mom does so what did I know?  So, I went on two nights and had my sleep observed which was all sorts of fun, I can assure you.  Afterwards, I was diagnosed with a mild case of sleep apnea – 7 apnea episodes or something. 

That’s so mild, I scoffed; seriously, why bother?  Then a lady at work told me that they were diagnosing everyone with sleep apnea these days.  And that’s all I needed to hear because I like my medical conditions to be unique.  1 in 50,000 unique, you know. 

Besides, I was functioning. 

Things started to change a few months ago.  It was harder to get out of bed.  It was harder to make it through the day.  It was harder to do much of anything.  Weekends turned into more naps than being awake.  I couldn’t even stay away to watch 48 Hours Mystery on Saturday nights.  I started to have headaches a lot.   I felt like I was walking around in a fog most of the time.

Quite frankly, I felt like I couldn’t get my shit together. 

I started to try to eat better.  Take walks at lunch time.  Try vitamins (again).  Go to sleep at the same time every night.  But nothing seemed to be working.  If anything, my need to nap seemed to be increasing.   

Then one Sunday, I woke up and didn’t want to get out of bed at all.  What was the point?  I’d just be napping in an hour anyway. 

I have a friend who has said about me that I don’t do anything until I’m ready.  And when I’m ready, I’m ready.  After that Sunday, I knew I was ready to make a change. 

I called the sleep doctor who renewed my never-filled prescription and 30 days ago, I brought home a CPAP machine to use when I sleep.  I asked the technician if I should use the CPAP when I nap – not just at night.  He told me that I wouldn’t be napping once I started CPAP therapy.  I rolled my eyes skeptically and then yawned.   

The first night, I only used the machine for three hours - not much but the results were astounding.  When I woke up, it was like I had slept for days.  My head was clear and I had energy to spare.  The spring that had been missing from my step was back and more springier than ever.  Everything seemed brighter, crisper in a way.  And I was famished.  I ate so much those first two days! 

It's been 29 nights and I've been feeling better every day. 

Those naps?  They are few and far between. 

Now, I’m not only functioning - I’m wide awake. 

The Wedding Weekend That Wasn’t…

…at least, it wasn’t for me.   It was for the bride and groom.  And, at the end of the day, that’s all that matters, right? 

This weekend, my cousin* – the groom in this particular wedding – got married in Chicago.  And that meant – WEDDING ROAD TRIP!  Most of his large, extended clan lives in Delaware and Maryland so there were lots of wedding road trippers headed to the Windy City late last week to celebrate the big day. 

Who doesn’t love weddings?  Okay, honestly, it’s the wedding reception part that everyone really loves.  I mean where else is it perfectly acceptable for white ladies my mother’s of a certain age to cut loose on the dance floor to The Black Eyed Peas “I Gotta Feeling”?  Where else can herky-jerky movements punctuated with finger snaps be considered good, no, great dance moves?  Where else can a 33 year old lady order a Shirley Temple without the bartender looking at her askance?  Oh come on, you know you just flashed back to the last time you had a Shirley Temple!

Anyway, I was excited when I scored an invite to the wedding.  The groom happens to be the son of one of my mom’s favorite nephews (well, they’re all her favorite.  Even the practicing Wiccan.  Hey, every family needs their practicing Wiccan) and we have a soft spot in our hearts for him because - one – he lives in the Greatest Place on Earth and two – a long, long time ago when my parents and I visited his family in Georgia, he went with us when we went to a bunch of historical places and, um, his mom took us to the Cabbage Patch Museum.  Which was, as you can imagine, AWESOME - even for a 14 year old with a Shirley Temple drinking problem. 

Once we knew we were going to the wedding, my mom and I bought plane tickets, booked our hotel room, and signed up for a Chicago Gangsters Tour and a Chicago Food Tour.  We were going to make a real weekend – give or take a few days – of it.  I began dreaming of eating deep dish pizza, a treat I haven’t had since I stopped earning Book It coupons  (it’s tough growing up in a thin crust family, lemme tell you!)   I brushed up on my Al Capone facts.  I took lots of Vitamin Extroversion to overcome bouts of inevitable shyness.  I prepped conversation cards to help get through awkward elevator silences (A sampling – How was your trip to Hawaii?  How did you do in your recent race?  How ‘bout those Phils?  What do you think of the financial crisis in Greece?  Obama or Romney? )

I was all set. 

But then my mom called.  She had a medical emergency and she wasn’t able to go to the wedding.  So, that left me with a choice.  But really, in situations like that, there’s not much of a choice.  At least, not to me.  Instead of spending the weekend in Chicago, I spent the weekend at my parents’ house in Pennsylvania where I needed to be.  I made sure my mom was okay, tried (unsuccessfully, sorry) to edit the dramatic telling of her medical emergency down to 18 seconds, and attempted to get her to not dwell on where we weren’t. 

At the end of the weekend, the bride and groom were married.  The wedding, from what I’ve read on Facebook, was beautiful.   Congratulations to the bride and groom!

And my mom is okay. 

That’s really all that matters.  Not that, for me, it was the wedding weekend that wasn’t.  There will be other weddings, and wedding receptions, and chances to herky-jerky finger snap on the dance floor and order Shirley Temples all night long.     

I guess it could’ve been worse.  I could’ve been planning a funeral.**

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 *Technically, the groom is my first cousin, once removed.  But who keeps track of that stuff?

**At least, according to my mom.  No doctor actually said that she could've died.  I think she was just trying to make me and my brother feel guilty for teasing her.  She just doesn’t understand – that’s how we cope.  ;-)