I’m still getting used to my CPAP machine, and it’s been a bit of a rocky road so far. Last night was kind of a low point—or at least I hope it was because I’d really like things to start looking up from here.
I woke up around 3 a.m. and couldn’t fall right back to sleep, so I started feeling anxious. I decided to roll over to my side and try to go back to sleep, and somehow in the process I pulled the entire CPAP unit off the nightstand and it went crashing to the floor. I jumped out of bed to right it and found myself standing in a puddle of water.
Much frantic swearing ensued because I didn’t know whether I’d damaged the machine and, well, dammit, my feet were wet. My dad, bless his heart, came running down the hall and into my room, flipped on the light, and sat beside me on the bed patting my back as I freaked out and started bawling over this terribly expensive and practically brand-new machine lying face-down on the floor.
After a minute or so, I managed to calm down enough to pick it up, dry it off, towel up the water on the floor, and change my socks. I left the mask off and we all went back to bed, although it took quite a while for me to calm down enough to sleep (dad said it took him a couple of hours as well). In the morning, I checked the machine and it seems to be working fine. We’ll try again tonight, of course.
I didn’t realize that adjusting to CPAP was going to be so difficult. Every single night so far it has awakened me after four hours or less, and the feel of the mask on my face and the sound and pressure of the air flow can get me very agitated indeed in the wee small hours for reasons I cannot articulate. I was embarrassed by how completely I panicked this morning over a pretty minor incident, scaring my poor dad half to death. Everything that goes bump in the middle of the night is exceptionally frightening, it seems.