If You Don't Mind, I Think I'll Go Crazy Now

I wear a BiPaP mask at night to help me breathe while I sleep. It needed adjusting during the night recently, so I called a CNA for help. I wanted her to move the mask to the left but could not tell her because I cannot speak. After several questions about my legs, my arms, my pillow, etc., she asked, "Is it your mask?" I nodded, "Yes." "Do you want me to tighten it?" I shook my head, "No." "Do you want me to loosen it?" "No." "Move it up?" "No." "Move it down?" "No." At this point, I thought she was on the right track, so I nodded my head to the left, indicating which direction I wanted her to move the mask.

On the wall to my left I have taped a step-by-step guide for the CNAs on how to use the urinal. When I nodded to my left, the CNA started reading the guide and asked, "Do you need to use the urinal?" "No."  At this point she told me she could not understand what I wanted and went to get help.

They say that neurotics build castles in the air, psychotics live in them, and psychiatrists collect the rent. As the CNA left the room, I decided a small tent would be enough to meet my neurotic needs.

She came back with another CNA who said, "Do you want your leg moved? Arm moved? Pillow moved?" "No." "No." "No." "Is it your mask?" "Yes." I nodded my head to the left. She read the guide. "Do you need to use the urinal?"

Make that a circus tent.

The first CNA went to get more help while the second CNA continued to read about how to use the urinal. The third CNA arrived. She had worked with me a lot and could always figure out what I wanted. I knew she could help me. "Is it your mask?" "Yes." Do you want me to move it?" "Yes." Oh joy, she almost had it! I nodded my head to the left. "Do you need to use the urinal?"

On the other hand, a two-bedroom, one bath cottage would do nicely.

One of the CNAs turned off the BiPaP machine. The air flow stopped suddenly, I yelled "No," and someone said, "Get the nurse! Quick!" By the time he arrived, the machine was back on. He started asking me if I had enough air. Then he asked, "Is it a problem with your mask?" Unfortunately, at the same time one of the CNAs asked if I needed to use the urinal, so I shook my head, "No." He thought I was answering his question. He said, "If it is not your mask, what is it?

A three bedroom, two bathroom, brick ranch house seemed like an even better idea.

Then the nurse asked the first really helpful question of the evening. "Do you want an Ativan?"

Another nurse wandered in. Now I had five people, three CNAs and two nurses, asking me questions at the same time.  "Do you want me to move the mask?" "Yes." "Move it up?" "No." "Move it down?" "No." I nodded to the left. "Do you need to use the urinal?"

Then again, the Biltmore House, the largest privately owned home in North America, has 250 rooms.

Then, the last nurse who came in, a veritable vision of loveliness, a goddess in scrubs, said, "Do you want your mask moved to the left?" I nodded my head, tentatively, hopefully, "Yes." Oh, sweet surrender! Oh, what joy! The group, in chorus, said, "So that is what you want!?" One of them adjusted the mask to the left. The angels sang. The crowd cheered. I drifted off into a gentle sleep.

I awakened the next morning, refreshed and ready to face a new day, but with one thought on my mind.

Does anyone have a castle for rent?

(This article will appear in the Asheville , NC Citizen-Times newspaper on 3 July 2011)