Air Supply
… is what I’ve named my rent-to-own CPAP machine.
I’ve had it since Tuesday morning. Karin took me to the medical supply store and left me in the parking lot with my COVID mask, a lawn chair, and several books (she had to visit her doctor). After forty-five minutes, I went inside and met the technician. I signed paperwork and learned how to use the machine.
“Should I worry about what the cats might do to it?” I asked the technician.
“Keep the hose away from them,” he said. “They might chew holes in it, thinking it’s a snake.”
So, every morning, I’ve been detaching the hose and storing it in the machine’s nifty little briefcase.
The appointment cost $145 (after insurance). The rental will cost $18 per month (after insurance). I’ll become the owner after 13–15 months. So the expense isn’t terrible; I just wish that obtaining the machine hadn’t taken longer than seven months.
The distilled water that goes into the humidifier costs 68¢ per bottle. The filters and masks will eventually need to be replaced.
Sleeping with Air Supply will take getting used to. It’s not uncomfortable as long as the mask isn’t leaking air into my eyes. The mask seems to leak air whenever I roll over. Tightening it in the middle of the night isn’t easy; and when I do, I’m castigated by the app that compiles my “sleep score.” The score also decreases if too much air leaks out.
I’m not sure if the “sleep score” matters. This month, the insurer only requires that I wear the mask four hours each night, seven out of ten nights.
I do seem to be sleeping better. Yesterday, I fell asleep twice watching Samuel – he was asleep, too – but today I’m alert, and I haven’t even had any caffeine.
Even the nights are better
Now that we’re here together
Even the nights are better
Since I’ve found you
… is what I hope to sing.
I’ve had it since Tuesday morning. Karin took me to the medical supply store and left me in the parking lot with my COVID mask, a lawn chair, and several books (she had to visit her doctor). After forty-five minutes, I went inside and met the technician. I signed paperwork and learned how to use the machine.
“Should I worry about what the cats might do to it?” I asked the technician.
“Keep the hose away from them,” he said. “They might chew holes in it, thinking it’s a snake.”
So, every morning, I’ve been detaching the hose and storing it in the machine’s nifty little briefcase.
The appointment cost $145 (after insurance). The rental will cost $18 per month (after insurance). I’ll become the owner after 13–15 months. So the expense isn’t terrible; I just wish that obtaining the machine hadn’t taken longer than seven months.
The distilled water that goes into the humidifier costs 68¢ per bottle. The filters and masks will eventually need to be replaced.
Sleeping with Air Supply will take getting used to. It’s not uncomfortable as long as the mask isn’t leaking air into my eyes. The mask seems to leak air whenever I roll over. Tightening it in the middle of the night isn’t easy; and when I do, I’m castigated by the app that compiles my “sleep score.” The score also decreases if too much air leaks out.
I’m not sure if the “sleep score” matters. This month, the insurer only requires that I wear the mask four hours each night, seven out of ten nights.
I do seem to be sleeping better. Yesterday, I fell asleep twice watching Samuel – he was asleep, too – but today I’m alert, and I haven’t even had any caffeine.
Even the nights are better
Now that we’re here together
Even the nights are better
Since I’ve found you
… is what I hope to sing.