There’s a lot about getting old I don’t mind, some things I even like, but it’s not all beer and skittles.
I recently mentioned to my doctor during my last regular old person check-up that the missus reckons I’d sometimes stop breathing in my sleep and she’d “have to” horse kick me in the kidneys for my own good. He queried if she was holding a pillow over my face at the time? I rejected this as I remember occasionally scaring the shit out of the rest of my team when working nightshifts with loud snorts when my brain finally kicked in that I’d dozed off and wasn’t breathing.
So my doctor booked me in to the sleep clinic to get a good old fashion overnight monitoring. I was actually looking forward to it as, when he asked if I objected to staying overnight, I beamed a change is as good as a holiday.
Upon arrival I joined a group of five others waiting to be allocated a room and I got better conversation in the waiting room during my last colonoscopy. Nobody was talking let alone interested in running a book on who was the loudest snorer so I just sat there fantasizing about what my nurse may look like as I’ve seen these movies before.
Disappointed, I was ushered to my sterile windowless daytime doctor’s office with a bed shoved in the corner by my “sleep technician”, Danushka Gunathilaka, who said he’d, “return in an hour to wire me up”, as he closed the door behind him cutting what little phone reception I had. So just sat there in silence, fighting the urge to attempt to hack into the doctor’s computer they’d foolishly left me alone with.
Dan’ finally returned carrying what looked like a wiring harness from an F35A Lightning and proceeded to tape bits to all parts of my body which I wasn’t expecting. I had envisaged just a couple of probes taped to my scone but even these needed some pressure to make sure they stuck. In fact he was pushing that hard on one of the probes I queried if he was attempting to click it into the one on the other side of my head.
Once I was all wired up and connected to the monitor, Dan pointed out the call button if I needed to get up to go to the toilet as he’d have to come in and disconnect/reconnect me. I then went to settle for the night, but before long the tummy started to rumble and it wasn’t good.
Despite impressions, I’m actually quite a thoughtful bloke and as I’d heard someone using the toilet earlier, from two rooms away, I could only imagine what the poor woman in the room next to the toilet was going through and I didn’t want to expose her to the potential PTSD that my visit may cause. So decided to risk a pressure relieving fart instead.
Luckily, it wasn’t as touch and go as I was afraid of but the smell was something to behold causing a burning sensation within the nostrils. I was scared the smoke sensor may come into play and had visions of poor Dan reeling back after bursting into the room to save me but being forced to retreat to call out the hazmat crew. I was stuck, as if I pushed the call button now I’d ruin the lives of two people.
Luckily my military training kicked in, as the one thing I hated while out bush on exercise in the Army was pooing in a hole in the ground. As a result I was able to train my bowels to clamp for days. It’s not comfortable but it’s a handy talent as I’ve yet to poo the bed, touch wood.
It took me a while but I finally got to sleep for what it was worth. The room was cold due to the air conditioning and the hospital type blankets weren’t much chop. I woke several times, either to go to the toilet, (No1’s), or to detangle myself from the harness or to have Dan wake me to reconnect probes that I’d pulled off in my sleep.
I woke around six in the morning to the sounds of the other inmates having their cables ripped off them, but had dozed off again by the time Dan came in to uncouple me. He then gave me a form to fill out and disappeared. I sat there dazed and confused for a bit, filled out the form and left the sleep clinic straight into a pisser of a thunderstorm.
I must have been a sight when I walked into the coffee shop across the road as all the early morning gym junkies from next door were staring at me. I was dressed for the weather from the evening before. Thongs, jeans and t-shirt, with an old canvas carry bag slung over my shoulder. I was now wet from the rain with my hair all over then place. To top this off, (I hadn’t noticed until the missus pointed it out when she picked me up), I had residue probe adhesive all over my face which suspiciously look like dried cum. No wonder I was given free passage straight to the coffee counter!