Home Alone

A preliminary assessment with a small monitor that Dean wore at home one night led to a decision for a complete sleep study to check his breathing while he slept, which meant a possible diagnosis of sleep apnea.

When they called me to schedule it at one of the sleep clinics here in town, I asked numerous questions about their setup and procedures out of concern for Dean's peculiar night-time needs. When I described his fall risk and symptoms of dementia, she determined that a hospital setting might be warranted for his safety.

So after four emergency room visits last month between the two of us (see my previous post), when each time a hospital stay seemed quite possible, Dean finally earned his hospital stay just to monitor his nighttime sleeping habits! And it wasn't even through the emergency room!

I wasn't about to complain though. It would mean a night of freedom for me, and since it was in the hospital, that also meant freedom from worry. On the way home, after dropping him off at the hospital in the evening, I thought about how to celebrate my night alone. Should I go shopping, eat at a restaurant, go see a friend?

But then I thought, no, I'll just go home and enjoy my freedom there. It would be a night of relaxation. I would choose a DVD to watch, without haggling over the choice with someone and having to pause it every time that person got up to leave the room. I would leave lights on in rooms I left, without having to go back and turn them off if I forgot. I would leave the toilet seat up or down as I pleased, and not even change the toilet paper roll immediately when it ran out. I might not even pick up after myself. My purse and keys would remain ON the table, instead of under it out of sight.

The evening was sounding more and more inviting. Only occasionally did I harbor thoughts of how Dean was faring at the hospital. Or how the hospital staff was faring with him there.

It wasn't until I got home with him the next morning that I learned that perhaps he was not enjoying his night away as much as I was. When I got there he seemed perfectly happy, feasting on his second pastry and downing a glass of orange juice.

The truth came out in the answering machine messages that awaited me when I got home. Three times he had called and told me that I could come and get him any time. He sounded rather desperate to get home, so it was good I got there when I did.

Evidently they had tried a C-PAP on him during the night, when he showed signs of needing one to see if it would make a difference. He said his nose felt like it was burning, with all that air blowing in there. Oh, my, I hope we can resolve this and find the best overall solution if he does have sleep apnea. I'm trying not to think about it.

Those messages on our answering machine still play in my mind though. I too am anxious to go home...home to heaven, where true rest and relaxation exists for an eternity, and not just a brief night while our loved ones struggle somewhere else. Help me not to lose my zeal for that homecoming called The Second Coming. "This world is not my home..."