WeaponofMassInstruction
As The Dark Clouds Gather, I Have A Rainbow Coming Out Of My Ass
by , 06-30-2013 at 07:32 AM (1082 Views)
I know the weight loss I have experienced causes a bit of an emotional Funland ride, but the circumstances in my immediate sphere of influence have exacerbated those emotions akin to poking a cobra with a stick; I proudly state that I have NOT let it all get to me. In this downpour of depression, I opened my jumbo umbrella and went for a stroll.
The first attack on my level of comfort came in the form of a 5' 9" chubby woman with a bad hair cut and a dress sized too small: my boss. She entered my classroom two Fridays ago to inform me that the budget cuts being what they are, my position has been placed in excess. In other words, find another job, fucker! Now, luckily teachers have SOME security here in NYC and I retain my benefits and perks; otherwise, the surgery would be off. However, I need to find a new position for myself by fall or risk being sent to a new school every week as a sub, not the worst of all fates but as a veteran educator, I should be in a cush post at this point in my career, not the whipping post for urban kids whose teacher is absent. To worsen the matter, this news needs to be delivered contractually 10 days prior to the school year's end. This means, I STILL had to go to a job that was no longer mine for 10 additional days and pretend all is well. Ha. People avoided me like I had leprosy, afraid they might "catch" a lost job themselves. See, if someone with 14 years in can be let go, well then, they are all expendable.
That night I went home, sulked a bit, and then headed to an appointment with the sleep doctor to learn the results from the sleep study (see previous blog). Turns out I have "severe sleep apnea," not breathing up to 70 times an hour! He explained how this shortens the life span twice as much as cigarettes and alcohol. I suggested I start sleeping and take up smoking and drinking as I can at least enjoy a longer existence. No smile. He required A SECOND SLEEP STUDY to see how I respond to the mask. I cried on the way home, remembering the awful experience I had with the first.
When I got home, Carla, the surgeon's claim handler, called and in her sing songy voice said, "Remember how I told you when we booked your surgery for the 1st of July that the doctor had not scheduled his vacation yet? Well, I have bad news. He will be away that week." My heart sank faster than Paula Deen's career this past week. She followed with, "We are putting you in for the 8th, a week later." That crisis was narrowly averted. Still, I wanted the maximum time to recover and just lost a week.
Sleep study 2.0 was worse than the first. This time a cute Asian woman with the bedside gentility of Joseph Mengele scrubbed my face raw with alcohol pads to apply the sensors. I had welts for days! In addition to the 20+ sensors from last time, this time the study included 5 additional EKG sensors, and, of course, the mask. She placed a mask covering my nose securely and assisted me in positioning myself for sleep. One fact she neglected to mention? You cannot open your mouth!!! I did. About a half hour into slumber, my mouth fell open and the tube blast oxygen down my throat, creating the sensation of drowning. I woke up in a panic and that was pretty much it for me for sleep for that night. She fitted me with a mask for both the mouth and nose, and this worked but the sandman had packed his shot and moved on by this point. I stared at the ceiling until around 3:30 am when she came in the room and said, "You know, you need to try to get some sleep for this study to work." As if I came here for the atmosphere!!! I must have drifted off at some point because it was 5:15 am before I knew it and I packed to leave.
Now, through all of this I have been a tumult of tears and smiles, almost like a bipolar patient, but I refuse to let it get me down. I decided I could admit defeat and brood away the summer (which I may as well considering the high temps and constant rain/storms) or I could be proactive and retain my focus on a solid life change. I chose the latter. I bought my wife a custom made table of gorgeous reclaimed wood that she spied at an art fair and explained that since she prepares the meals to help us both in our quest to thin down, I thought we should have a statement piece about food as a thank you for all her support. What better than a table? She loves it and was as happy as a pervert in a rain coat warehouse. SO what is the moral of this story? When the going gets tough the tough go shopping? No, not at all although I have seen that phrase as a bumper sticker before and now understand why so many married men work a second job. The moral is what you want it to be. For me, it is about not crumbling under the weight of the things you believe you cannot bear. I know people have it far worse than I do, and I don't wish to compare war stories, so to speak, but I do hope all of them, and all of you, can find a little light in those dark corners and can shit rainbows instead of regret in your journey.
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depression
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