The Machine

 I remember when my mother got diagnosed with obstructive sleep apnea. She came home with this Machine. It roared like a white noise maker, sometimes "bubbled" - and she put on this mask every night. The first time I saw her with it on, I took one look at the mouth-mask that changed the shape of her profile, together with the black velvet-like straps that held it on, and I couldn't help but think of Bessie the cow with her halter on, waiting to be milked.

 I burst out laughing. I laughed until tears started spilling out of my eyes.

So when I went to the doctor at the end of summer this year, and mentioned to the doctor how tired I was all the time and how I never seemed to get much real deep sleep, he ordered blood tests for me to rule out thyroid and organ function problems, and he also referred me to the local sleep clinic. He informed me that it was likely that I had sleep apnea - and that those people who got treatment noticed an increase in their alertness level, and many of them lost weight because the stress was less during the night from trying to get enough oxygen. 

The blood tests came back normal. I took my sleep study home on September 11, a weird contraption that was a band around my upper chest, a nasal tube like you see in hospitals and an oxygen monitor that you clip on your finger for the night. (The thought crossed my mind, regarding the date, that my own "twin towers" might get hit - that my laughter so many years ago was coming back to bite me!!) To my surprise, I was able to sleep that night. (Preconceived notion of a machine being too intrusive? Gone.)

When I took the diagnostic machine back to the clinic, I picked up a brochure with all the models they had in it, as well as some information about what CPAP is (Continuous Positive Airway Pressure) and how the new generation of machines is so quiet. (Another preconception dismissed.) 

A week later I got a call from the clinic with my results. Yes, I had obstructive sleep apnea (OSA), and could I come in on November 27, 2025 to pick up a CPAP machine? I made the appointment and put it on my calendar. Two. Whole. Months? 

The same day, I got a call from my doctor's assistant, who had received my test results and wanted to know if I had any questions. I wanted to know more details. So, I learned that my OSA was moderate, with 24 episodes of apnea and/or hypopnea (there's a word - it means snoring!) per HOUR.

Blink. Blink. Processing.

That night, I  put my diagnosis on Facebook and a dear friend of mine, who also has OSA, commented, "Welcome to the Snuffleupagus club!" I laughed - at least she didn't say the Bessie club... 

Yesterday, after 2 months of counting off the weeks, then the days, I picked up my machine. (Technically it's not mine yet; I have it on a 30-day trial). My appointment lasted an hour. Laura Lee (not Secord) went through my results, asked questions, let me ask questions, and then brought out the Machine - in a smart, black, canvas-looking case. She showed me how to put it together and what to do with each part. The mask was made of medical-grade silicone (so no acne or skin irritation!) and the air supply hooks to a strap that goes over my head; the hose hooks to a 360 degree elbow-joint (made of hard plastic) that allows me to turn over in bed with no problem, and the whole thing is held on my head by a strap that goes under my hair at the back of my head. She turned the Machine on after she fitted me for the mask, and there was no sound. NONE. My tongue went automatically to the roof of my mouth as I breathed normally through my nose, just like babies do! Laura Lee had to tell me the machine was on. I didn't know.

Huh.

I didn't feel suffocated.

Huh. 

I learned that I have to use distilled water in the machine to humidify the air that goes through the mask because the air by itself would dry out my nasal passages and my throat. 

Huh. 

(Note to self - those big bottles of distilled water are soft-sided, so be careful when putting water in the reservoir. I won't say how I found out...)

Finally, bedtime! I kissed hubby goodnight  . . . 

And I turned the Machine on and found a comfortable position. 

Free image from Pixabay!

The next thing I knew, it was 1:00 and I'd been asleep for an hour and a half! I unhooked the hose, went to the washroom, and got back in bed and reattached the hose. Aside from turning over in bed, I slept.

I usually wake up around 10 or 11 in the morning.

This morning I woke up at 7. SEVEN!!  More refreshed than usual (which is NOT refreshed!) And I laid awake with the Machine still on, until about 8 o'clock. 

And I got up.

Huh.

When I checked the sleep summary on the Machine, it told me that I averaged 13 apnea / hypopnea events per hour last night. (Down from 24 in my diagnostic test.)  When I checked my Garmin app (which measures stress levels and heart rate etc., through my watch) my stress levels had gone down significantly from all the previous nights. My heart rate was in the 60s (not the 80s) ... 

Huh! 

My jaw dropped. 

Blink. Blink. Processing.... 

And so begins my journey with the Machine. It's much easier than I thought to adjust to, and I like the results so far! Could this be ... part of self-care?

Huh. 

I go back in a week to get my machine read, and to adjust the flow of the air, as well as to make sure the mask still fits properly. 

But for today, I think I'll go do something else that is good for my self ... maybe get a haircut.

 

Worthy of Love and Belonging*

 * - Brené Brown

Most of my readers probably know that I'm a psychotherapist (aka a counsellor). My practice includes adults age 16 and up, individuals and couples. 

What some might not know is that in training, student counsellors are taught that it is considered necessary for every counsellor to HAVE a counsellor. So yes, I have one. My therapist helps me stay on track personally, holds me accountable for important things I often forget when I am busy. In particular, such things include self-care, which is written into the Code of Ethics of my certifying body. In fact, it's in the very first article of that Code! 

Blossoms - free image from Pixabay

Since seeing this particular therapist, I've been taking more time to do some of the things I let slide before. I spend more time out in Nature, marvelling at the handiwork I see. I reach out to friends and to people that have touched my life in some way, even if just to say thank you (those are powerful words, just saying). I look after my emotional needs. I tell people that I care about how I feel about them. I spend time thinking about any unresolved feelings about past events that may be hindering me, and I work to clear those things the same way I help my clients do the same. (How can I help them to heal, unless I first heal myself?)  I take time to enjoy the relationships I have in my life.

The other day, I was outside on our property. Our pink weigelas are in a riot of bloom, and there is a honeybee hive not far from here. Coming in close to the bush, I could smell the gentle but heady scent of the flowers. And then I saw her. A honeybee had crawled into one of the weigela blossoms. I could only see the back half of her as the flowers are trumpet-shaped. As I watched, I could see her hind end rhythmically going up and down as she drank deeply the nectar that was inside of that flower. Time seemed to stand still. There was only the bee in the flower. And I marvelled at how bees have two stomachs: one for nectar and one for pollen. And I considered in my soul how the bee takes only what she needs to feed her body, and gives the rest to the hive to feed the colony. In so doing, she is nourished to be able to contribute to the good of all, and she tastes the sweetness of what she will give to her sisters at the hive. What a beautiful picture of self-care in the context of a natural care-giver! 

I've carried that picture with me ever since, in my mind's eye. It's okay to gain strength as I give to those who need some of that same strength. It's okay to look after me on a regular basis - it helps me to better help others. 

The secret - and I think the bee knows this instinctively without having to be taught (unlike us humans) - is in adopting and believing in a phrase that Brené Brown uses often: "[I am] worthy of love and belonging." The bee is a crucial member of the hive and knows instinctively her role and her worth. She is listened to when she returns to the hive to tell the others where to find nectar. She is believed. She is respected. She belongs. And ... just so ... in my new and renewed relationships with those who are my equals, I belong as well. I am valued. I am worthy of love ... and respect ... and friendship ... and belonging. That reality brings me such gratitude. 

These are thoughts that have been percolating in my mind lately. And these thoughts are the reasons why I have been reaching out to people who are in my life, letting them know how much I appreciate them, spending time with them, sending a note to connect with them, and realizing more and more that I grow in attachment with others. Not necessarily in a crowd (because that's not my style) but in individual connections with one or two people at a time. As I do so, I get to remember how very rich (not in dollars, but in the depth of those individual relationships) I am. I'm so thankful! 

As Time Goes By

On Monday of this week, I awoke as any other day, and during breakfast I noted the date and remarked that we were into the final week of February, "finally". 

Something niggled in the back of my mind, something I couldn't quite name, but it felt kind of important. I felt "off" all day long. Yes, I did the usual things with my family. Yes, I looked after myself and my business. Still, something was ... I dunno ... missing.

Not until the phone rang that evening did I realize what it was. Monday, February 24, was the five-year anniversary of my brother Ben's death. 

Free photo from Pixabay

The caller - someone very dear to me - said he'd been thinking about Ben all day and he wanted to call me to let me know it. We had an amazing conversation for a good half-hour. It was wonderful to hear his voice again. 

As he was speaking, it occurred to me that I had almost forgotten this was the anniversary date. Okay, I HAD forgotten.

But my subconscious, even my body, didn't. 

And today, at the breakfast table, I remembered how much I missed him, how lost I felt without him - especially at first - and that even though I would not wish him back to the suffering he experienced every day because of his physical conditions, I truly miss his humour, his talent, his presence. I miss how we would talk about important stuff, how we would sit together and sing and play our guitars together - "jamming" we called it.

Grief takes many forms and each is valid. One never stops grieving a loved one, but the shape that grief takes might change over time. Let me be clear: time does not heal this wound. Time does not heal trauma.  But love?  Love heals. And unconditional love heals best.

I can remember Ben today and honour his memory and his talent. I can smile at the memory of his antics and his single-minded loyalty to me, his desire to protect me from harm, and his pride in me as his 'little sister' ... I can laugh at his old jokes and how he could make people laugh with just a facial expression. I can close my eyes and listen to him sing his songs with me. I can hear him play the guitar - in his inimitable thumb-and-forefinger style.

And I know that someday, perhaps not soon, but someday - I will see him again. And we will jam together.