R has to wear a C Pap mask at night for his sleep apnea. I call it his C Pap smear machine because I’m immature.
He will never let me take a picture of him with it on, let alone possibly publish on this fine blog, so here is a picture of one.
Please note that the couple above is NOT US. First of all, our reading habits are the opposite; I read while R slumbers. Second, I am clearly not Caucasian. Thirdly, the woman is probably super sensitive to her husband’s condition.
I, on the other hand, frequently make comments such as:
• “Hey, how is it out there?”
“Where?”
“On the highway to the danger zone.”
• {mocks Darth Vader breathing}
• “Are you my mummy?” {In reference to Doctor Who; in which he is sadly not a fan. Yet.}
• “If I cover the filter by your nose, will you swell up like Harry Potter’s aunt’s friend?”
“NO!”
“Let’s try!”
“NO!”
• {Insert joke about sex appeal of the mask and/or breathing}
Other times I bring up anecdotes about his machine. Sometimes I’ll be sleeping rather peacefully, facing him, when all of a sudden I am woken up by a face tornado… Only it’s not a tornado. It’s his breathing mask and it’s blowing in my face.
Luckily R has the same warped sense of humor I do and at best, laughs at my jokes. At worst, pretends to be sleeping.
It turns out that all this time his decibel-breaking snoring was because he couldn’t breathe! Add to this that tumor constricting the space in his neck! Can’t a guy cut a break?
Nope. Not at all. He’s a fighter. He’s got this.
He’s got this with a huge snorkeling apparatus on his face.
But really, if you think about it, I’d much rather have a face tornado than sleep alone. I’m sure he feels the same, minus the Darth Vader jokes.
