Sleepless in Saskatoon

Spending a cold, lonely, slightly spooky night in hospital conjures . . . book plots

No way was I going to take a selfie all wired up. Nope. So here. An adorable sleeping kitty. Sweet dreams, and you’re welcome. Photo by Kate Stone Matheson on Unsplash

Some statistics to start.

Over one-third of Canadians between 5 and 79 years old fail to obtain the daily recommended amount of sleep. Furthermore, one-quarter of adults aged 18 to 79 (plus a bunch of kids) report problems with falling or staying asleep most or all of the time. — Signed, The Government.

If you are not Canadian, Imma bet it’s not much better in your country.

I am among those tragic, exhausted souls who do not ever feel properly rested. Indeed, this being fully awake and popping with energy thing? Almost never happens.

Soooo this has been going on for farrrrrr too long and finally I was referred to a respirologist (that only took a year) who recommended I do a sleep study (that only took another um several months). He said, based on a home test, that I have mild sleep apnea, only while on my back in the arms of Morpheus. That might or might not be the root of my fatigue problem. Hence, further testing.

Ew.

So on Thursday evening, I wandered into the hospital with a rolly bag in tow, dreading with all my might what was to come.

This particular facility is a bit odd by hospital standards, methinks. At 8 p.m., it was quite dark. Rather quiet. Very short of roaming humans.

Spooky.

Rolly and I took the glassed-in elevator to the sixth floor and appeared precisely three minutes early at the appointed spot.

I wore no makeup, had clean and entirely undressed hair (I looked WONDERFUL), had not consumed caffeine for at least seven hours and had they given me a drug test, nothing would have shown. So there. Not even an ounce of wine. Which I kind of wanted, because I was a wee bit anxious. But I behaved, possibly better than I ever have in my entire life.

Almost immediately, after changing into omg pyjamas (!), I entered the room of terror. (I never wear pyjamas. And certainly not “in public.”)

For forty seemingly endless minutes, my kind technician attached wires to what felt like every inch of my body (although I exaggerate). From the top of my head to my calves, I was covered in sensors and very sticky goop.

I knew then it would be very difficult to escape.

I made the obligatory pre-bed trip to the washroom at this point and regarded myself in the mirror. I looked quite literally like a character in a horror movie (and I do not exaggerate). Before this point, I had considered taking a selfie — you know, to share my experience yadda yadda eyeroll — and immediately thought no damn way. I never want to see that again. Neither do you.

Adding insult to the already injured appearance, the weird wire pad hanging around my neck looked like the interior of a very complicated machine.

It didn’t look anything like this but it was def as complicated. Photo by Frames For Your Heart on Unsplash

And still I was not ready. Then came the rubber finger thingy, the torso monitoring thingies, and the nasal cannula.

Okay. Please go to bed now.

God, it was noisy (and cold!) Air conditioning. Crashing in the hallway. Voices. Phones. Like really? How can an empty hospital BE this loud!?

And I am supposed to sleep through this?

Yes, I was. And you know what? I actually did. That said, it took easily an hour to get to sleep, and that only happened after I put a pillow over my head. Thank goodness I had asked for another blanket.

Then I was awakened at 2.30 (for heaven’s sake!) because some of the wires did not appreciate my tossing and turning. This is a sleep study, mister, I thought. Not a wake study. Ha.

And I went back to sleep.

In the morning, and 6.30 came far too soon I tell you, I was informed that I had slept like a baby. Not a real baby. The proverbial baby. Riiiight, I thought.

Much-too-long story shorter, I was informed (almost four hours later, kill me dead) that I had mild sleep apnea when on my back in the arms of Morpheus.

Sound familiar?

As I left the hospital, the place was buzzing with humans again. My weird little fears of the previous spooky night almost evaporated . . . but not quite.

I detect a plot for a crime novel emerging (because I canNOT write horror). Nothing like being stuck in place by wires and machine hookups in a cold, not-remotely-silent but very, very empty hospital to inspire strange and unsettling thoughts.

So I did get something out of this rather weird ordeal.

(Which, in case you ever face the prospect of such a thing, really is not as bad as you might expect. I think. But I learned for the multi-thousandth time that there really is nothing, and I mean nothing, better than my own bed with husband in it.)