In Which I Think I Deserve a Medal

Sleep apnea.  That's the diagnosis for Jerry.  And not just sleep apnea, but SEVERE sleep apnea.  When his doctor mentioned that he'd seen the results of the test, his words were, "Wow, scary results."  Scary?  What does that mean?

Me: "What does that mean, doctor?"
Doctor: "Well, your husband stops breathing approximately 51 times per hour."
Me: "51?  Yikes, now I feel a little bad for complaining about his snoring."
Doctor: "That's not snoring, it's gasping for oxygen."
Me: "Okay, I'm feeling a little worse, now.  I guess I'll have to stop smacking him in the arm and screeching, 'ROLL OVER!'"
Doctor: "What kind of wife are you?  The man is struggling to stay alive all night, and you're smacking him in the arm?!"
Me: "Ummm, I'm the kind of wife who NEEDS SOME SLEEP.  Do you have any idea what it's like, sleeping next to someone who snores no matter if he's on his back, his side, or his stomach?  It's torture, I tell you--torture!  In fact, I think I deserve some credit for surviving 11 years of this.  Yeah, he should be thanking me!  How many wives do you know of who would put up with that?  And technically, I think I should get credit for keeping him alive for the last 11 years--if not for me, he could have died in his sleep from a heart attack or stroke.  And this is the thanks I get?? "
Jerry: "I've OFFERED to go to the couch."
Me: "Sure, like that would even help.  You remember Idaho, don't you?"

Idaho:
Several years ago, our kids spent the summer with Jerry's mom and step dad in Montana.  The plan for child retrieval was simple.  Meet in Coeur d'Alene, which was about halfway between our place and Belgrade, MT.  We'd spend the weekend at a KOA campground in a "Deluxe Kamping Kabin", which is about as much as I'm ever willing to rough it, and have some quality family time to close out the summer.

We all converged on the KOA.  It will likely never be the same.  Our "Deluxe Kamping Kabin" consisted of a two-room log cabin--two sets of bunk beds and a double bed in the back room, and a double bed in the front room.  Our niece, who is a month younger than the oldest boy, accompanied her cousins for the trip. 

At bedtime, the three kids, Jerry, and I took the back room.  Jerry's parents took the front room. 

Soon, the snoring started.  Jerry was in fine form that night.  The stillness of the midnight campground amplified the sounds of snoring, causing the sound to reverberate throughout the little Kabin.  As a seasoned veteran of the ear-splitting sounds, I clamped my pillow around my ears and tried to relax. 

Then, an unfamiliar sound joined the cacophony of Jerry's snores.  Duke, Jerry's step dad, is ALSO a snorer.  It was as if the two of them, and their stuffed up nasal passages, had channeled all of the sound in the world, and were blowing it out their nostrils (I love that word--nostrils--it sounds funny.  Kind of like "pudding" and "trousers".  The more times you say them, the funnier they are...). 

I had been prepared to combat the dulcet tones of Jerry's snoring, but when Duke's were added, it was if the decibel level increased exponentially.  I had no defense for it.  I squeezed my eyes tight, prayed that the kids would stay asleep, and practiced every relaxation exercise I knew.

Just as I was finally dropping off to sleep, I heard two sharp sounds--first, the slamming of the Kabin door, and then, the slamming of a car door.  I didn't know what was going on, and at that point, I didn't even care.  I needed some sleep.

The next morning, Jerry's mom looked exhausted.  She glared at Jerry and Duke all morning, until one of them finally noticed and asked her what was wrong.  "You two were so loud, I had to sleep in the car!  You probably kept the entire campground up all night!"  The car--why didn't I think of that?  I could have slept like a baby in the quiet cocoon of the minivan.....

Obviously, Jerry's doctor has never lived with a snorer, or he'd understand that I do, in fact, deserve a medal.

Grover Arms

People who have been married for a while develop their own language, based on a lifetime of silly conversations and in-jokes.  Jerry and I are no exception.  Comments like, "I went all Grover Arms over the whole thing", or if one of us isn't understanding the other, saying, "Chicken?" are surefire ways to crack us up.

Today, I'll reveal the origin of "Grover Arms".

When I was in college, aerobics classes were all the rage--I'm talking full-on, Jane-Fonda- leotards-and-leg-warmers aerobics.  And, to my eternal shame, I'm compelled to confess that I, too, wore a full-body leotard and leg warmers.  I had all of Jane Fonda's workout videos, and I was still slim enough to enjoy group classes without worrying that I was the flabbiest person there.

Don't judge me.  It was the 80's.

Anyway, my aerobics instructor was a math professor who did the aerobics gig on the side, because he liked to work out.  He was a tall, gangly, swarthy man with black Einstein-esque hair, who typically wore a black, long-sleeved, full-leg body suit.  He wore electric blue accessories--terrycloth headband, wrist bands, running shorts over his leotard, and yes, leg warmers.  He had the longest and skinniest arms and legs I've ever seen on an actual human being.

He was so exuberant, you felt happy just being in the same room with him.  He didn't care if you were hopping on the correct leg, or skipping in the correct direction.  He just wanted you to MOVE.  "Your heart doesn't care what foot you're on, just keep GOING!!" he'd holler, as we took him at his word and bumped into each other and ran over one another in reckless abandon.  Who knew aerobics was a full-contact sport?

Whenever the routine called for us to wave our arms above our heads, his would flop from side to side, independent of each other, just like Grover from Sesame Street:

http://youtu.be/JOF5s9k-cLA

I wonder sometimes if he deliberately hopped on the wrong foot and moved out of sync to the beat to make us feel better about our clumsiness--no one could be THAT awkward naturally.

To this day, whenever I think of someone getting really freaked out over something, I think of them running around with "Grover Arms". 

A large portion of my job in the real world involves perusing medical records.  One diagnosis that always makes me giggle to myself (not out loud, I'm not CRAZY, after all) is "internal derangement".  This is often used as a diagnosis for knee injuries, if the doctor thinks someone might have a meniscus tear or ACL disruption, but doesn't yet have the MRI to confirm it.  Whenever I see that diagnosis, I think of Grover arms, waving toward the sky.

Whenever my teenagers get on my last nerve, I picture myself running out to the pasture, screaming unintelligibly, waving my Grover Arms, freak flag flying high.  It soothes me.  And it's so much better than dusting off the old Jane Fonda videos and trying to figure out where in the heck my waist went when I wasn't looking.

Reinforcement

There comes a time in every person's life when they need to learn the difference between "in" and "out".  Most often, if things are designated as "in" things, they need to stay "in".  "Out" things frequently need to remain "out".  Walls and fences are a good way to keep "in" in, and "out" out.  But what happens when "in" things need to stay in, and "out" things need to stay out, and SOMEthing needs to be able to move fluidly between the two realms?  This is the express purpose for such inventions as doors, gates, and the like--to make said transfers smooth and seamless.

And therein lies the problem--that transition stage between "in" and "out", and the possibility of "in" things becoming "out" things and vice versa.  "In" things like air-conditioning, parakeets, cats, and dogs do not mix well with "out" things like hot summer weather, hawks, coyotes, and cars.  And "out" things like flies, dogs, and mice do not mesh well with food, alpacas, and MY SHOES.

Just such a conflict has arisen in my peaceful household.  My niece, Kayla, does not understand her fundamental responsibility to participate in keeping "in" things in, and "out" things out.  Reinforcement of these vital principles was necessary.  Her grasp of the concept--guarding "in" from "out" and "out" from "in"--was in jeopardy.  Drastic measures needed to be taken. 

Observe:

We can only hope and pray that the lesson has taken hold, and the fine balance between "in" and "out" will continue to be maintained....

Conversaton on the Way to the Sleep Study

Me: So.....you realize that you're only going to be there for about 12 hours, right?
Jerry: Yeah, so?
Me: Well, it's just that you're bringing a really big bag. 
Jerry: I have lots of stuff to take.
Me: It's a REALLY big bag--in fact, I think it's bigger than the bag you brought from Kentucky, packed with all your earthly belongings, when you moved here to marry me.
Jerry: Look, I've got a lot of stuff to carry.  They said I could bring my radio, and my pillow, and I need my pills, a change of clothes, body wash, toothpaste.....
Me: I understand that, but yeesh, it's a big bag.  Do you need help with it?
Jerry: It's got wheels, you know.
Me: But just the fact that you NEED a wheely bag.....that's kind of my point.
Jerry: What's it to you?  You don't have to carry it.
Me: Nooo....it rolls. 

(Silence)

Me: That's a huge radio, by the way.  They do make them smaller, you know.  It's not like the 80's, when the bigger the boom box, the cooler you were...
Jerry: Ha!  You're jealous of my big bag.
Me: Not at all.  I just wasn't sure it would fit in the back of the Bug..........Just sayin'.

(Silence.  We arrive at our destination.  We have a few minutes, so I'm reading through the instructions for the sleep study.)

Me: You had iced tea for dinner.  You weren't supposed to have anything with caffeine!
Jerry: Tea doesn't have caffeine.
Me: Yes it does!  Look, right here, the paper says it does!  You haven't even gone in yet, and you've cheated!  Tea cheater!
Jerry: I'm going to be hooked up to a thousand electrodes, some dude's going to be watching every move I make all night, I'm in a strange bed, and you think a little TEA will be the reason I can't sleep?
Me: What if you have to potty in the middle of the night because of all the TEA you drank?  Will you be electrocuted by the electrodes?
Jerry: I don't think they're going to put electrodes THERE, you know.

(Silence, while we contemplate electrode placement.)

Me: Do you want me to walk you in?
Jerry: No, Mom, I think I can make it.
Me: Do you need help with your rolly bag?.............Hon?..............I love you, sleep well!......Jerry?