“Performance Anxiety” at the Sleep Clinic
Last night, I went for my long-anticipated night at the sleep clinic. Long-anticipated because I act out my dreams, having somehow overridden the slight level of sleep paralysis (atonia) that protects most sleepers during dreaming. What ends up happening is that my body takes a swing at that phantom threat in my dream, and I wake up when I smack the side table, or the wall, or worse, my wife. At least twice, I have taken a dive and ended up on the floor. The first time that happened, I almost bit my tongue off, and thought for several hours that I had broken my jaw. As a result, I now sleep on a futon on the floor, for the safety of all involved. So much for that nice new bed we just bought.
So I got a referral to the sleep clinic. Most of their clients are there for sleep apnea and snoring … REM Behavior Disorder such as I display is fairly rare … according to the literature, I join less than half a percent of folks with sleep disorders, which is fortunate, since RBD can be dangerous. And at least one study has shown that people with RBD have a higher risk of developing Parkinson’s and/or Alzheimer’s Disease. It’s well worth the time and effort to get a study done.
I drove to the far side of town, where the sleep clinic is situated upstairs from a bank and overlooking a muffler shop. The light commercial district doesn’t matter terribly, since the sleep clinic has nighttime hours of business. Inside, there was a subdued tone. Aside from a doctor’s reception window, it looked more like a home than a clinic. A living room, a kitchen and bathroom, and several comfortable bedrooms that look rather like a moderate hotel room … TV, lounge chair and of course a bed. There was even a sample Hawaiian Host chocolate on the end of the bed. The only things out of place are the infrared video camera mounted to the wall, and the bedside table with a rats nest of electrodes and sensors.
A male technician came in and told me I could watch the TV, read, do whatever I wanted, but they wanted to have me try to sleep by 10:30 pm at the latest so they could get a full night of monitoring. He then wired me. A strap around the chest to monitor breathing, and another around the belly. Electrodes attached to my scalp at several places to measure brain activity. A nasal attachment to measure temperature. Electrodes to monitor eye movement, and sensors on the jaw and chin to monitor teeth grinding. Then a couple of sensors to monitor heart activity, and a couple more on each leg to monitor leg twitching. Okay, I looked like Franenstein’s monster.
Then I went to sleep. I’ve always been blessed by the ability to fall asleep quickly. Two minutes and I’m out cold. At the sleep clinic, it was the same thing. Except that I was wired, and the first time I moved even slightly, one of the sensor wires must have tugged at me enough to wake me back up.
Nothing wrong there, I’ve hypnotized myself back to sleep hundreds of times. Focus on a pleasant place or experience, move into that space, and start the voyage to inner consciousness. But not this night. I spent 10 hours lying in bed, wired like a marionette, and could not find that doorway to sleep. I could even roll over … left, right, on my back, I tried every position that I could get into (given the wires) until nearly 6:00 am, when one of the assistants tapped at the door and said it was time to disconnect me.
“Looks like you had a rought night,” she said.
Not a moment of sleep. No REM. No unconscious acting out of dreams because there were no dreams. Now I go back to the neurologist, who will look at the results and try to map out an alternative course. All I can do is shrug.
I had to skip work today, went home, and immediately fell into a deep sleep. After two hours, I woke myself up when I shouted out encouragement to a character in my dream, and reached out to grab a ball he had thrown to me. When the ball evaporated into empty air, I knew it was another dream, more REM behavior. I was back home. Is this what they mean by “wireless networking”? (joke)
