One night a couple of weeks ago, my husband went into the lab for a sleep study.
It wasn’t all about the snoring so much as the ceasing to breathe (apnea). He gasps for breath like a fish out of water, and when the loud gasping wakes me up — well that shit has got to stop,
I can’t afford to sacrifice one moment of my beauty rest.
Seriously, apnea can cause a whole myriad of health issues — including death — which we all have to agree is the ultimate side effect—so he packed up his pillow and jammies and spent the night at the lab.
“You are one of the worst cases this lab has ever studied,” his doctor exclaimed, barely hiding her surprise as she read the report. “You wake up on average, thirty-seven times an hour! In other words, you get absolutely NO rest!”
She promptly wrote a prescription for one of those sexy CPAP machines, assuring him that it will “change his life.”
I know she’s right — I see a change in his sex life coming real soon.
That night when he got home he couldn’t stop yawning.
“I’m sooooo tired. You know; I get absolutely NO rest” he said, shooting me a zombie-eyed look as he stifled another yawn.
Two hours later, after yawning and complaining his way through dinner, I couldn’t hold back any longer. “Damn, you sure are suggestible,” I teased. “You felt fine until she told you weren’t getting any sleep, now look at you.”
He grinned sheepishly, “I know, right?”
I may know a thing or two about suggestibility.
I am NOT allowed to read the side effects that come with a prescription drug because I cannot be trusted from that moment on to feel anything legitimate.
If it says may cause constipation –– I won’t poop for a week.
May cause drowsiness –– I lapse into a coma.
If it lists depression or psychotic episodes –– I start hearing voices.
The same goes for Web MD.
It is my belief that no one without a medical degree should be allowed to log onto that site!
A few years back, that very same husband met me one morning in the kitchen doubled over, holding his side and wincing in pain. Seems he was up all night self-diagnosing his affliction with the help of the internet, and by morning they’d both agreed –– he had all the symptoms of appendicitis.
Ever the perfect, caring and sensitive wife –– I called bullshit.
“Oh sure you do. Come on, it’s just gas. Buck up and take an Alka Seltzer and quit being such a baby.”
In this case, I was wrong. He had to have an emergency appendectomy later on that night.
But my argument still stands!
Don’t read that shit, especially late at night or your headache will morph into a brain tumor in a matter of hours.
Trust me on this.
She felt amazing…until they told her she was sick…
I’m a firm believer that doctors should forget about their malpractice insurance for a minute and neglect to tell a patient the downside, the side effects, and the survival rate.
Most people are just too damn suggestible (myself included.) That information goes in their ears, bangs around in their brains, fires up all of the fear receptors, and then sets up shop up there—and becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.
My father was told that people with his stage of lung cancer had about eighteen months and by God, he kept that appointment with death. Shit dad; it was an educated guess, not a directive from the main office.
Studies have shown that men are the worst. They will obediently mark it on their sub-conscious calendars.
How about if we all agree to attach our hopes to only the positive suggestions; otherwise known as The Placebo Effect—Things work out for the best because we BELIEVE that to be true.
They feel more like a hopeful heart flutter than a gut-punch.
That procedure doesn’t hurt a bit.
Owning a pet helps you live longer.
Sex can be counted as cardio.
It isn’t only diet and exercise that keeps you healthy, it’s a positive state of mind.
This bug only 24 hours, you’ll feel better by the morning.
Coffee is good for you.
Red wine keeps cancer at bay…
Blonds have more fun.
Those are the yummy suggestions that we should let set up shop in our brains and become a prophesy fulfilled –– not the drama and dreck the fear hands us.
Agreed?
Carry On,
xox
