A medical test

The last few days, we’ve had an arctic chill – and, suddenly, it’s mid-winter. Snow covers fields; frozen slush obstinately sticks to parking lots; ice daggers dangle over doorways; temperatures touch the lowest (positive) Fahrenheit integers. It’s indistinguishable from January. It looks lovely from indoors.


Tonight, I’m sleeping at my grandparents’ house. A vacation from Samuel’s squalling!

No, not just that. I have tubes in my nostrils and belts and wires and boxes strapped around my chest. They’re to measure my breathing and help the doctors decide if I have a sleep disorder.

If results are positive, they’ll account for:
  • my constant sleepiness during the day;
  • my inability to read an article or watch an hour of TV without dozing off;
  • my weight gain the last seven years;
  • my athletic and intellectual decline;
  • my general lack of success.
The idea to get tested arose because, when I was in the hospital with Karin and Samuel, various medical professionals observed me sleeping and, independently, said I should.

Actually, I’d thought of it before, and Karin had thought of it (as a joke?), but the hospital stay definitely was the catalyst.