Sleepy Time

Recently I had a birthday that caused my doctor to throw up his hands (why he'd swallowed them, I'll never know) and drop me as a patient. I think I've disguised which birthday sufficiently to stymie Russian hackers because, in my experience, Russians can't believe that Americans have an age at which doctors refuse to see them.
Anyway, my new doctor wanted me to get tested for sleep apnea because apparently, I fit the profile (lately, the only thing that fits) being old, fat, and sleepy. It took a couple of weeks to schedule, but, a few weeks ago, I brought the equipment home and taped it to my head and finger, thus ensuring a good night’s sleep. The next day, I returned the gear.
Yesterday, they called me back with the results. They told me that five to fifteen events per hour is considered moderate apnea. I’d had twenty-three, which they told me is extremely moderate. By the way, extremely moderate also describes my politics. He recommended an APAP machine to blow air into my lungs to keep me from asphyxiating under the weight of my palate and unfulfilled dreams. I told him that I’d tried one of those years ago, and it seemed to suck the air OUT of my lungs. Unless, I’d put it on backwards, I wasn’t interested in something that tried to suffocate me in the night. He told me that apnea is a risk for strokes and heart attacks. I didn’t mention it, but the fact that they’ve waited weeks to call me back with the potentially life-saving results indicates a certain callousness and a willingness to write some patients off.
We compromised by agreeing to try a dental appliance that slowly, over a period of months, will move my jaw forward. This supposedly will do something to make the apnea better. Now, I’m waiting for the dentist to call to schedule the appointment. Meanwhile, I try to sleep, knowing that, according to the sleep clinic, just closing my eyes carries a risk of dying. My biggest regret is that my mother didn’t live to see this transformation. When I was very young, she asked a dentist if it would be possible to break my jaw and move it forward a little bit to improve my weak chin. The dentist refused, so like a lot of weak chinned men, I’ve always had a beard and a legacy of disappointed parents.