Craptastic Pitifully Agonizing Pieceofshit and....What the Yoga Teacher Said

Also known as the CPAP. Honestly, if I were diagnosed with sleep apnea or some disorder that required me to sleep with one of these fucking asinine devices strapped to my face, I would smother myself with a pillow and be done with it.

Way back when--before my mom decided to have the smaller-than-a-pea non-metastasized tumor removed from her lung--the surgery which launched her onto the planet of the infirm, she was able to manage her CPAP. I have no fucking idea how since she lived on her own then.

After emails and telephone calls and internet inquiries spanning a couple of weeks, I was able to get a copy of the sleep study she had done a couple of years ago, a new doctor's prescription for CPAP accouterments, two home visits from the medical supply firm to acquaint her with the new masks that they thought would work for her. Neither mask has worked out--the first because it does not have an adjustable strap (fucking brilliant), and the strap that's on it is too big. The second mask, I'm pretty sure had its adjustable strap on backwards (do you suppose that guy who came to the house was really a respiratory therapist?) but after consulting the internet and putting the strap on the other way, mask number 2 still does not seem to seal properly to my mother's face. The medical supply place seems reluctant to provide her with the mask she had before. Why? I don't know, but if I had to make a really cynical guess, I would say that Medicare pays them more for the ones they've suggested.

So it's back to plain old oxygen tonight. I just heard the beep of the machine turning on, which means my mom is going to bed. For the next hour or two--or until I fall deeply into dreamland--she will yell obscenities, growl like a bear, and call out as if she's being chased by monsters. I was kinda hoping the CPAP would soothe this savagery--a nice plastic mask over her mouth would not only help her breathe properly, it would muffle the yells.

As for me, I'm going to do a little yoga before I try to sleep. "Find your personal boat," the yoga teacher said this morning.

What she meant, of course, was that we were to adapt the pose to our ability. But the phrase, "personal boat" has been bumping around in my head today. Things are rocky here in Margaritaville. And I  need a boat. Not necessarily to sail away in, but a boat that I can handle. A boat that's sleek and low, perhaps, or brightly colored. A boat that will hold this house and rock us all to sleep.