Getting old is exhausting. And expensive. The good news is that today's bill was far less than I thought it would be after I called the insurance company yesterday for an estimate.
I evaded and sometimes outright lied to doctor's assistants for years, every time they asked me screening questions about my quality of sleep. I weaseled my way out of doing any sort of sleep study for close to a decade, no matter how many times they asked me whether I had apnea or snored. At first I honestly didn't know. In the last few years, I started admitting to myself I was probably having a little of each of those things, but I was still in denial about how often. It isn't actually super bad even now, but it does register as needing attention. The study in December said I had an average of 13 obstructive episodes per hour, what they would consider mild to moderate. But that meant that the oxygen saturation in my blood bottomed out at 74% over that night. No wonder I'm so often forgetful and tired during the day.
My pulmonologist ordered me to get a CPAP machine. Dammit. That is what I was trying to avoid all these years. I didn't want to wear the giant apparatus that I'd seen my cousin wear when we all went camping out at the lake house in Texas almost 20 years ago. The idea of a big old mask, putting gouges in my cheeks that would take hours to fade, and a loudly chugging compressor--this was not going to work for me. When I tried the usual evasive techniques, the pulmonologist caught on to my fear, and assured me the technology has advanced greatly since I saw the scary machine at the campout. I might be able to use a "nasal pillow," he explained. I was still leery of that, but I agreed to try, for his sake.
Today was the fitting for the machine and mask. He was right, the machines are far quieter than the only other one I'd encountered, and he wrote the prescription for the lightest, least obnoxious mask there was (the nasal pillow variety). The tech at the medical device store was super understanding and patient with all of my questions, which was a great relief. I made her start with insurance benefits questions, so I didn't waste her time if my 20% cost share was going to be hundreds or (yikes) thousands of dollars. I had no frame of reference for this. She pieced together an invoice of the specifics for my prescription, and showed me my cost. Less than a hundred bucks initial investment, and a reasonable "rent to own" process. (Apparently they do it that way to make sure you're going to be compliant and actually use it, so they don't spend big bucks on a machine that will be thrown in a closet and never used.)
I really liked the expert who helped me get set up. She knew the equipment intimately, as a CPAP user herself. She knows my doctor and the sleep expert who I see next month for follow up care, and she said positive things about them. (This is one of my favorite parts of living in a smaller city--people know the doctors and lawyers and business owners by reputation, and give good references.) When we were going over my invoice and how often I'd need to replace masks and tubing and whatnot, she said, "Sleep is no longer free." My face lit up, and I asked her permission to quote her. That is one of the best phrases I've heard since this journey began, and it is exquisitely true.
Now I need to get better about writing earlier in the evening, so I can power down my brain, and try some of this expensive sleep. I hope it's better than the free stuff.
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