The Aforementioned Later-In-The-Evening Rant

Right.

So, you guys know me, with varying degrees of personal attachment, or lack thereof as the case may be.

So it's only to be expected that some of you are more familiar with my current and ongoing "issues" than others; for that reason I ask those of you familiar with my current situation to bear with me while I fill in the folks in the cheap seats.

Ok then.

A few months ago, I had a tough bout with bronchitis. It's happened before, but this time it really didn't want to let go, and stuck around for a good length of time; finally I got it chased out of my system.

But for some reason, I kept on waking up tired. Not "man, I needed more rest," or as Tara puts it, "why aren't there more hours in the day for sleep? Ilove sleep," but rather, "did I GET any rest? WTF?"

It got worse; I began feeling drowsy basically all the time, and started getting really worried about my ability to operate a car, or, say, perform my job - involving lots of fast-moving sharp things - with any degree of safety, because I was, increasingly, RANDOMLY FALLING THE FUCK ASLEEP.

Right.

So my doctor told me that he wanted (no more than did I...) to know WTF was going on with me, and sent me to the local hospital sleep lab to run a sleep study.

Now, I've never had this done before, so I wasn't quite sure what to expect. I got there, and the tech ushered me upstairs to what looked like a motel room with a few gizmoes extra, and told me he would be along to "wire me up," after a bit.

I plunked myself down in their very generous recliner, and turned on the TV.

100 fucking channels, and "The Day After Tomorrow" was the best thing on TV. That's a goddamn shame, right there.

But, ok, the tech came in and hooked me up to so many wires I told him "dude, I feel like I have Predator dreadlocks. Awesome."

Watched more TV; "the best thing on" changed from that shitty movie, to a different shitty movie. A STEVEN SEAGAL movie.

*Oh, the humanity...*

So, about 11 PM, I'm starting to fade, no doubt from boredom, and the tech comes in and drags me over, finishes hooking the wires to his machine, and tells me "get comfortable."

Yeah, right.

After the initial calibration for the EEG - "look left. Now look right. Now look up. Take five deep breaths. Good; now blink 5 times." - the lights go out, and I'm ready to snooze. Now, for the first time in my whole life - being as I've always been slow-sleep insomnic - I can pass right out, because I'm exhausted.

So, at 2:15 AM, or thereabouts, the tech rushes into the room, turns on all the lights, and makes me sit up so he can strap some kind of funky breathing apparatus to my head, because, said he, "you're WAY over the threshold, and the hospital requires you to wear this so you don't die."

...Wait, what?

"Ok, go on and sleep now."

...Did he just say, "Die" ?!?

...I think he did.

...Definitely used "DIE" in that sentence.

...Dude, come back here, WTF?!?

"MMMPH!!!"

"Get comfy and go back to sleep, all your numbers look fine, now."

It's a good thing for him that I was still half asleep, and am basically lazy.

So, in the morning, they get me up, and after all is said and done, all test run, that gel crap they use to stick the 'trodes on you scraped off my head with fingernails, and all my crap picked back up, the dude goes "ok, this will go to your doctor, and then we'll try to schedule you an appointment."

Two words.

HELL.

NO.

You just told me this condition might result in my DEATH, and it's sufficiently severe that you strapped some plastic thing to my face so it didn't happen while you were legally liable for me, and I get a "we'll call you" ?

To describe me as "pissed" might win some sort of prize for understatement.

So, I went home, fuming.

Told my work buddies about it, and they pointed at me and laughed.

I thought that was really funny, too.

TODAY, while I was at work, the hospital called; they want me to come in tomorrow in the middle of a work day so they can - in theory - fit me (I don't know what that entails because the friggin' thing has adjustable straps, and all I gotta do is slap it on, and tighten the straps until they cut into the bone of my skull, from what the tech said) with a breathing machine, which Iwill then be able to take home and use.

They still let me hang out for 3 nights with a condition that might result in my DEATH without warning.

It's that standard of professionalism, not to mention the sheer "can-do" attitude, that makes me like and respect my local hospital.

You may mock me now, but fair warning; I might say something really mean in reply unless you show wit, panache, style, and can demonstrate an adequate grasp of the English language.