I have this little bubble of nervousness floating around in me today. Tonight I sleep at home. Tomorrow I sleep at the hospital under observation, attached to machines with electrodes and (gasp) being videotaped. To be fair, it’s not really the hospital, but a sleep clinic. But still . . . I’ll have to call for help if I want to go to the bathroom so that I can have the electrodes detached.

I’m going in for observation for Sleep Apnea. I’m pretty sure I have it. It’s when you’re sleeping and you stop breathing for ten seconds. You actually can wake up hundreds of times a night and not even know it.

All the signs are there. Irritability, fatigue, loud snoring, falling asleep at weird times. And on and on and on.

I’ve always had a weird relationship with sleeping. It used to be insomnia, though when I was a kid I just thought I was really wrapped up in the book I was reading. I didn’t really peg it as insomnia until I was living alone. I would wander around my apartment looking for something to do until I was finally sleepy. There were weeks where I’d only have three hours of sleep. It was hell but at least I knew what was going on. Racing thoughts. I couldn’t shut off my brain.

Once I got married, I would just lay in bed. It seemed rude to leave my wife alone because I couldn’t sleep. And maybe, just maybe, I could fall asleep again.

Now that the baby is here I don’t have a problem falling asleep. Perhaps because your body knows it may be called upon to do something at two am and you need to get whatever you can. But my body, the bastard that it is, refuses to cooperate.

My wife is the one who ratted me out to the doctor. We both had an appointment on the same day and she told the doctor that I gasp and gag while I’m asleep. And now I get to sleep under observation.

I have mixed emotions about it. On the one hand, this is a good thing. I have a name to put with my exhaustion. I have an excuse. And, to be honest, I don’t friggin’ want to die of heart problems associated with Sleep Apnea. There is a treatment. God, can you imagine finally having a full night’s sleep? Maybe I could finally have the energy to exercise and shed these extra pounds I have. And, when I shed them, I may not need the treatment.

What’s the treatment, you ask? That’s what makes me nervous. It’s something called a CPAP. It’s a mask that you wear while you sleep. The mask is attached to an air compressor that keeps a constant air pressure in your throat so that the tissues do not close.

A mask. As Sarah Vowell said in her book (a passage I read last night, ironically) “Congratulations! You’re a cyborg!” Yay.

I don’t want to have this thing that I have. I want to sleep well. I want to wake up happy and refreshed and not yell at the kids for making my cereal soggy. But, still . . . I don’t want to wear a mask.

My wife didn’t sign on for sleeping with Darth Vader every night. How attractive is a man in an elephant mask? I’m proving myself to be one hell of a catch. GERD that keeps me up gagging on my own stomach acid and choking to death in the middle of the night. How proud she must be. She’s officially married to one of those dorks you used to see at church on Sunday whose parents made them wear their dental headgear. You could always see that defeated shame in their eyes. You can see it in mine.

Yes. It’s true. My fear is part of a matter of pride. Of attractiveness. I don’t want to be one of those men whose wives roll over in the middle of the night and say, “Oh Jesus. What the hell am I doing here?” I don’t want my daughters to stay in bed, terrified of the summer thunderstorm rather than come to bed with us because they are more terrified of the face-sucking alien attached to Daddy’s face.

But, most of all, I don’t want to die of heart failure in the middle of the night, leaving behind the three things in life that truly make me happy. What’s eternity without the ones you love? Ah, yes. It is called hell.