Testing, Testing 1...2...3

Last night I had to go in for a sleep study. Seems that I snore. So loud that metaphors such as "dynamiting a mountain" and "bringing down a forest" and my absolute favorite "Darth Vader" have been tossed about as a comparison.

So before I go under the knife my surgeon wants to make sure I don't have sleep apnea. At first I was afraid this would make me an unlikely candidate for the surgery, but then I understood this was a protective measure.

I arrived around 9 pm, already 30 minutes past my bedtime. I was quite ready for sleep at that point but I wouldn't have the opportunity for several hours.

We waited, my family and I, for quite a bit of time in the room that was to be my bedroom for the night. We waited and we waited.

The room was nice, rather like a set up at a furniture store, fake plants and all. The bed seemed to be sleep-worthy, but still not my bed. Located in an office building it was quite obvious that this was once someone's workplace. Only now there's a bed. And a video camera. And a loudspeaker. And a motherboard. And a fan. THANK GOD for the fan!

Questions ran through my mind. Questions like, what if I pass gas? (Seriously!) What if I talk in my sleep? (Am I an entertaining sleep conversationalist?) What if I have to go to the bathroom and I am connected to the motherboard? (Do not wet the bed.) I was worried most about the bathroom. Just the slightest possibility of having to hold it all night made me visit the facilities 3 or 4 times before they locked it up tight.

My family left and finally she came and began to attach all the wires. And I thought finally I will be able to get some rest! Right. So, if you've never had a sleep study you'll want to know that you are attached to a box with wires coming out of almost every possible spot on your body. A connection beside each eye. A connection on each leg. A connection on each side of your chest. A connection on your neck, your chin and your jaw. Behind each ear and right on the top of your forehead. And eight glued to your scalp all around your head. A pulse oximeter on your finger. And finally a sensor that sits on your top lip and fits inside each nasal. This is in order to sense the heat of the breath coming out of your nose.

Once she got me all wired up the fun began. Apparently the machine wasn't reading anything. Insert brain dead joke here. Despite her many attempts and pleadings the machine refused to work. Plan B, move to another room. Except we had the same problem in there. She switched this, reattached that, wiggled something else and turned herself about.

I think the turning herself about did it because Houston, we had liftoff. Whew, I sigh. Not yet says the motherboard who apparently had more tricks to pull out of its sleeve. Plan C we move back to the other room and try a few more dance moves. This impressed the motherboard and we finally began the test. It was midnight.

Problem #1. I was no longer sleepy. Problem #2. I was in pain. Problem #3. I had to pee. Dang. I tossed and turned and would just about drift off and sleep was snatched from me by the sleep mugger. I must have finally drifted off because when I thought I just couldn't hold it one more second she said she would be more than happy to come unplug me, let her stop the test. She came in and I asked what time it was, she said 6 am and I had given her some lovely snoring. Lovely.

We went home and I slept all day. That is really going to mess me up tonight. But I couldn't help it. It was my bed, my sheets, my home and best of all I could go pee whenever I wanted.

Aria Overture

This is me....

And this...

Oh and this...

Apparently I think black is slimming...

My name is Dana. I am a mother of 4, wife, friend, wannabe writer and 315 pound woman and I am about to have gastric bypass surgery.

Like most people who are morbidly obese, weight has always been an issue. Always. I cannot remember a day in my life that I've not worried about the numbers on the scale and on the tag of my clothes. For much of my life, despite the efforts of many, both the happiness I felt and the quality of life I enjoyed were relative to those insignificant digits.

So much so, that for 13 years I offered up my soul for servitude in the hopes to have the happiness I just knew waited on the other side of 5 pounds less. The demon from hell I offered it to - bulimia - held me down and stripped me of control and freedom and held me on a very short chain of idolatry, squeezing my spirit until it was bled of every drop of dignity.

Salvation from this has been my hardest fought battle.

The months after recovery were slow, however the weight came on quickly. It's not that I ate so much, it was that I ate and kept it down. I ate and didn't exercise for 4 hours. I ate and had no laxatives to follow. And my body was tired from years of subjugation. Very tired.

I've tried to lose weight in the years since my recovery. I would have some slight measure of success, only to end up right back where I started or even heavier.

Then my blood pressure began to creep up. I now take 2 blood pressure medicines to keep it under control.

Then the depression flared again. I now take medicine for that as well.

Then two years ago I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia. Not a condition that is weight related, however, it does tend to exacerbate the symptoms.

At the same time I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia, my blood sugar must have felt left out because it began to have itself a fit and I was diagnosed as a diabetic.

And then I turned 40. Lovely.