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Going... going...I am saying this too often lately: I need a weekend to recover from my weekend. Friday P was going to steam clean the top floor and I had my sleep study, but the cats needed attention and by the time P got over to the townhouse I was calling him saying, "Please come pick me up." The sleep study? How do they expect you to freakin' sleep? No one told me exactly what they were going to do to me other than "hook up a couple of electrodes." Also? No one told me that I wouldn't be allowed to sleep on my stomach, which is pretty much the only way I can sleep. Also? Tempur-Pedic mattresses SUCK, as once they conform to your body, you can't move and they get hot. Not that you can move anyway, because of the all the wires - oh, and not that you can even get up to pee either, without calling for assistance because of all of the wires (I usually get up to pee twice a night). So, between worrying about the house and not being comfortable and feeling like I’m trapped in a wire web, I fairly well freaked out after lying there for two hours.
Total count of the craziness: 2 electrodes on each leg to see if I have "restless legs", two on my chest to monitor my heartbeat, 4 things in my hair to measure brain waves, 6 on my face to tell when my forehead, eyes, cheeks, and mouth move, a mic on my cheek to hear if a snore (um, duh?), one thing shoved up my nostrils to measure my breathing through my nose, another thing shoved up my nostrils and in my mouth to measure my breathing through my mouth, an oxygen sensor on my finger (the least of the worries), plus a strap around my chest to see how much it rises and falls as I breathe, and a strap around my stomach for the same purpose.
Issues: Not being able to sleep on my stomach. Not being able to scratch anything on my face. Not being able to blow my nose, which you know is a big problem since I have so many allergies. Not being able to get a seal around the tube in my mouth because, since it is also connected to my nose, whenever I breathe out through my nose it puts some air into my mouth and my lips go pbbbbbbbbbbbbt. (This has the added benefit of drooling because there is no seal and my brain is going, "Oh, there's something in my mouth. It must be food. Let me make some saliva.") Not being able to even wiggle around, which leads to feeling of being trapped. Add hot to this (even though there was a fan in the room and I had it on - it couldn't blow on my ass, which felt welded to the Tempur-Pedic mattress). Not being able to pick the gigantic wedgie (never mind that I usually sleep naked but that obviously wasn't going to fly). Not being informed of what I was actually getting into even though I had talked to my doctor, a tech at the sleep center, and got a packet of information in the mail.
I very seldom have a freakout like this, and it seems when I do it's always related to medical stuff. Why does everything medical have to be so damn humiliating to begin with? (Multiply that humiliation by 5x for being a fat girl, because it's rare there will even be a gown to fit you.) Why do they not talk to you and explain more carefully what is going to happen? It's not like I don't ask questions.
On a more humorous note, they had to put paste in my hair to secure the little wires, and when I got home I found I looked like my hentai alter-ego, Bukkake Zabet™ (Rape Tentacles Sold Separately). Bleh! It took three rounds of shampoo to return to normal.
So anyway, Hubby rescued me from the wire web and secreted me off to the townhouse, where we watched Dreamscape on the computer and slept very well.
On Saturday we unloaded the PODS. I say "we" but it was Hubby and Brittany who did the lion's share. Brittany is apparently ten ninjas. I helped move the lighter stuff, but just one trip up the stairs carrying something light (~20lbs) was enough to make me need to sit down and pant some, whereas they managed three or four trips with heavy stuff (~40-50lbs) before taking a break. (I am officially a sad pudding of a human. The exercise bike is unpacked, yay! However, it was a true test of my new asthma medicine, Symbicort. I may have panted like a dog, but I didn't wheeze. I'm hoping I have less side effects with this one than Advair, and thus far it works just as well.) They managed to unpack about 90% of the PODS before their legs started to give out. At that point we decided to finish up on Sunday and went out for some dinner. Hubby and I got home, showered, and collapsed.
Sunday we woke up earlyish and assessed our aches and pains. Hubby was in pretty good shape, though a little sore. My right ankle (the problem ankle), knee, and lower back were not doing well. My back twinges whenever I step forward on that side. We went to Lowe's for the few must-haves we had decided on: an electronic lock, an under-sink water filter, a digital thermostat, and a handheld showerhead. Imagine us shuffling slowly around the store, me leaning heavily on the cart; yup, that was us. We got back to the townhouse and Hubby then installed stuff until Raellyn and Bug came by. It only took about 40 minutes to unload what was left, and that was with breaks, so we spent time hanging out and fantasizing about the IKEA opening in Cinci (note: the person who runs this blog is waaaaay more into IKEA than I am...) and how best to trick out our kitchen with snazzy and modern IKEA organization.
Today we are setting up the craft room/office/library/guest room/cat-free zone. Tomorrow I'm not sure what we're doing, but Wednesday we are going to start moving over miscellaneous small stuff from the old house and by this weekend we and the cats will be living there.
And now, I return to the crazy pre-semester fray that is my office.
thus proclaimeth the Zabet 11:39 AM 3 comment(s)
Oh! I wish you had called me about the sleep study. Or, did I ever tell you guys that? I have narcolepsy and had to have one of those tests done in 2005 to confirm it. I thought getting to sleep through a test was a pretty good deal but it is rather uncomfortable to have all those wires stuck to your head with crud.
Bukake Zabet! (teehee!!)
Now I feel guilty about grousing. Completely non-complaining reply to arrive soon.
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