And unfortunately, the results ain't pretty. I got a call from the sleep institute this afternoon and basically heard this: "Hi Justine. We've just received an urgent fax from your doctor's office, telling us that you need to have another sleep study done as soon as possible, this time with a CPAP machine. According to the test, you stopped breathing an average of 101 times per hour."
Say what? Did I hear her correctly? Did she just tell me I stopped breathing 101 times per HOUR? I actually asked her to repeat herself because I thought I had heard wrong. Nope, I'd heard right. I have a massively severe case of sleep apnea. K then told me that she had an opening for tonight, and for tomorrow night, but not in the clinic that's close to my house, instead one that's near downtown Jacksonville. I told her I was unable to drive myself that far and could I get in at the other clinic this week? Nope, no openings and she didn't want me waiting until October 3rd. I told her I'd have to speak to my husband and get back to her.
Now let me just say here that I pride myself on my utter honesty in all parts of my life. And I've always been honest on my blog too, just sometimes skimming over some minor details that would make me sound like I'm husband bashing or disparaging my husband's character. But after the conversations I've had today I've decided not to worry about that anymore. If I'm writing about something in particular, and he's adding to that situation by being a complete asshole, I'm not going to keep it to myself anymore. This is my blog. This is how I vent. I don't care who reads it, whether it's his friends, his mother, his damn boss. If he can't treat me with respect, he doesn't deserve my respecting his privacy on my damn blog. Treat me like a dog, and from now on this dog will bark for all to hear.
Anyway, when I made my call to Jimmy I was a nervous wreck and started getting really upset. When he answered I was actually crying but not hysterical or anything. I just told him about the test results and that I'm very scared. When I told him they really wanted me there tonight he said, "Well, you'll have to ask them if you can show up late because I have a softball game I'm not gonna miss." In my state of anxiety it didn't even occur to me just how selfish that statement was, and I said, "That's fine. We can do it tomorrow night then. I'm just really scared." Next thing out of his mouth was something like, "Well, it's your fault isn't it? You've let yourself get heavier and heavier and you just keep smoking. Until you lose weight and quit smoking you're not getting one bit of sympathy out of me." Click.
Does this hurt me? Not hardly, to be honest. You'd have to feel loved to be hurt by someone. What it does do is piss me off that he gets away with this type of behavior all the damn time but no one aside from my family and close friends knows about it. I'm sure I'll later regret putting this out there in blogland, but right now I'm so sick of feeling sick, so tired of being tired, and so over being treated like a third class citizen in my own house, that I just don't give a shit!
Sorry this was such a bummer of a post, but hey, I'm keeping it real, right?
P.S. When I spoke to my ENT he said I'd broken his record as having the worst apnea he's ever experienced in his career. Yeah for me!