CPAP

 CPAP

            The doctor was full of expert and assured advice though I’m sure my socks were bought before he was conceived.  “Mr. Hemmings, this CPAP mask and little machine will make a big difference in your life.  You’ll be sleeping better before you know it and you’ll find that those pounds you’ve added will be much easier to lose.  Once you’ve shed those forty extra pounds your sleep will improve so much that you may be able to give up the mask.  Don’t worry, you’ll like it.”

            I’d heard those words before—before my basic training, before my deployment to Iraq, and before my marriage and my divorce. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll like it,” just didn’t do it anymore.  Now this post pubescent junior doc was spilling the same platitude.  

            But on this occasion, this one time, he may have been on to something.  My first few nights with my new bed mate were, admittedly, a challenge but things gradually improved.  After a week, I was sleeping better, resting better, displaying more energy and had even returned to the gym.

            My next visit to the junior doctor was with a new attitude.  “Doc, I was skeptical, but I’ve got to admit, my sleep has improved.  I feel better.”  The next few weeks continued on that same track.  Then things began to happen.  Dreams—I began to have dreams that were more than weird.  To say they were odd is more to the point—to say they were more realistic than life is even more on point.  In my sleep, my deep sleep, I guess they call it REM sleep, I began to hear things.  At first, I awoke to the sound of air leaking around the seal of my mask.  I was able to get back to sleep without too much difficulty.  I was okay for a while, then the noise changed.  It was not loud, but now seemed more like children’s voices--really children’s screams.  The screams were coming from afar, they were barely audible. And to the left and seemingly downhill.  Boy, it was a weird sound!  I can tell you that I got no more sleep the rest of that night.  The next evening, I was so tired that I slept well. Then three or four nights later the sound repeated.  This time I could clearly hear far away screaming--screams of children.  And the screams were accompanied by a noise.  It was a noise like a machine a farm machine or maybe a tractor or even a tank.  It’s repeated every three or four nights since then.

            The boy doctor listened, but didn’t seem impressed.  After a long pause and much stroking of his absent chin whiskers he finally gave me his pronouncement.  “I can’t believe that there is any physiologic basis for your symptoms.  Sometimes the symptoms are due to the added stress of the CPAP mask to an already busy life.  I suspect that your symptoms may be more mental than physical.  I’ll order some nighttime pulse oximetry to be sure that your blood oxygen levels are stable and not causing some sort of hallucination.  In the meantime, I’ll make an appointment with a psychiatrist.  I’ll bet he will help you resolve these troublesome nightmares.

            Dr. Newman, the shrink, was a step up from the boy apnea doctor.  He had enough gray hair to command respect and had sympathetic platitudes in abundance.  I repeated my story as accurately as possible.  Then it was his turn to question me.  “This phenomenon only began after you began the CPAP treatment.  Is that correct?”  

            Yes, my sleep initially improved and I felt much better till the noise started.

            “You mean the children’s screams and the machinery noise.?”

            Exactly, and now the screams seem more like real voices and the machinery sounds like military vehicles.

            “And there is no external sound, no ambient sound from outside your home?”

            That is correct.

            “You don’t recognize any of the voices or the language they are speaking, but you do believe the sound is coming from a definite direction?”

            Yep, the voices are coming from the left and downhill.  The mechanical noise shifts as though I’m watching something move by.

            “May I make a suggestion, not really a psychiatric suggestion, but merely a starting place?”

            Okay, I’m listening.  

”Go somewhere, anywhere, and try sleeping in a different environment. 

Sleeping in a different room, or a different city or even in a different time zone.  See if the dreams or noise or hallucinations or whatever change.  That will conclude today’s session.  Let me consider this and we’ll revisit in two weeks.”

            My job enables me the freedom of travel, so I packed my bags and headed for as different an environment as possible, the Michigan upper peninsula.  The CPAP worked as well as usual and the sleep came easily and deeply. The voices came about 4 AM but not nearly as loud as before.  I awoke to the voices, but could ignore them and go back to sleep.  Perhaps the shrink was onto something.

            My next location was as different as possible, Key West.  The BnB I picked was on a secluded cul-de-sac.  Sleep came quickly as I was overly fatigued by travel, but before long the voices and accompanying noise were the loudest yet and from such a discreet direction that I could literally point to them.  Sleep was a matter of a series of light naps.

            My report on the next psych appointment was met with sincere interest. 

            “Could you hear any speech?  Could you detect any specific language?”

            I could only hear occasional snatches of words.  I think they may be in Spanish.

            Dr. Newman swiveled his chair around to his desk that was almost sagging under stacks of newspapers.  Then he picked up a thick text and blew off a thick coat of dust.

            “Have you ever heard of something called remote viewing?  Remote viewing has been thought of as shams or coincidences, but there is too much evidence to ignore.  You have, no doubt, heard of examples of a mother who knows her soldier son has been killed and even sensed the moment that the accident happened.  You may also have heard of mediums who have led law enforcement to kidnapped children.  I suspect that you might be experiencing remote viewing, or in your case, remote listening.”

            I was distinctly underwhelmed and told Dr. Newman that I was spending both money and time with him for sincere diagnoses and expected more than pulp fiction tales.  

            He listened to my complaint with his back turned as he was intently reading some of the newsprint on his desk. 

            “Here, look at this.  Have you seen this before?  Have you ever heard of the mountainous village of Lepoigue in a disputed border area between Brazil and Columbia.”

            Nope, I’ve never heard of it and have no idea what or where it is.

            “Do you think you could have seen a news program in passing or even just heard the name?”

            I can assure you that I have not heard, watched or even sensed anything South American.

            “Over one hundred children were kidnapped a month ago by a rebel splinter group.  These are blood thirsty lunatics with the goal of establishing their own government in a forgotten section of jungle on the borders of the two countries.  They want a plutocracy based on the lucrative drug and human trafficking business.  They’ve been publicly executing a child and torturing others every few nights till they gain independence from the two countries they are defying.  Neither country wants any part of this and would just as soon have the entire episode go away.  So, you have little, or no knowledge of Lapoigue?   But you have heard some voices; perhaps those children’s voices. “

Doc. What am I to do?

            “Some force has chosen you to be a witness, to endure the anguish of these children and their families.  With time the plight of the children will be over.  The terrorist will simply run out of children to kill, or they will get their country and sell the remaining children to even worse fates. And then you will likely quit hearing the voices.”  After a pause, Newman spoke again.  “Then you’ll have to resume your sleep if your conscience will allow it.  That’s all I have for you.  Your cure is up to you.”

            My passport was current, so after a small amount of research I headed to Columbia.  I met up with Mac.  I’ve no idea of Mac’s nationality.  I know he was Latino, and had some knowledge of the area and language and apparently knew almost everyone or everyone’s relative. 

            After being outfitted we traveled into the mountainous jungle in an aged Jeep that had been on its last legs for the last ten years.  Finally, we reached the end of the track and Mac reported it was time to walk.  Now the nightly voices were calling even louder.  When Mac questioned the direction at a fork in the trail, I could tell him by remembering the direction I had sensed in my dreams.  After two days of climbing up and down mountains, hacking through dense jungle and swatting mosquitoes bigger than birds we topped a ridge and smelled smoke. 

            Carefully poking our head above the ridge, we could see a group of huts.  A few of them had smoke above the thatch.  We settled in to await evidence of the children and their captors. 

After dark the children must have become restless and we heard more voices from the huts.

            Soon the apparent leader came out of the larger building.  He started up the hill directly toward us. We didn’t see how he could have seen us but he was certainly coming our way.  He stopped on a ledge about ten feet below our hiding place.  He sat down in a camp chair we had not previously noted and picked up a bull horn.  We also noted a radio with an antenna strung up the hill.  It must have been his source of communication.  He sat down in his chair and made several calls on his radio.  Then he picked up his horn and announced, “It’s time to come out to play, children.”  Mac translated his Spanish into English for me and the commander must have heard Mac’s whispered voice.  He looked up directly at us but our cover and camo were adequate and after a few moments he turned back to face the village.  Mac looked at me with a startled expression. 

            “Senor, he is you.  You and he are same, alike.  You look alike and except for the language difference, you sound alike!  Is he your twin?”

            I couldn’t begin to explain this, but a glimmer of a plan emerged.  Can you get us quietly down to the ledge?

            “Si, I’ll bring my persuader.”

            Mac pulled his persuader from a pants pocket. It was a large ball bearing, attached to a flexible handle and encased in a woven leather covering.  It was quick and it was over.  Mac dispatched my doppelganger with an action as quick as lightning. 

            He was pushed off the ledge into the brush fifty feet below.  All that was left on the ledge was the camp chair, radio, bull horn and the commander’s cap.

            I hoisted the bull horn and recited Mac’s words we had prepared.  My simple words in Mac’s Spanish were in essence, Our quest is over. We have won.  Release the children.  Direct them and send them home unharmed.  I will supervise from here.  The captors on the grounds did not move and appeared hesitant and confused.  I repeated the Mac’s original message, but added one additional word with as much force as I could muster--NOW!  

            Mac and I returned to our hiding place.  We observed the stunned and puzzled troops releasing the children, helping them board open bed trucks and heading out of camp.  Mac was certain it was toward civilization.  We began our trek back to Columbia just as we had come.

            On reaching the city we noted some commotion of the populace that had not been there when we departed.  Mac was able to obtain a paper and noted that there was a Brazilian-Columbian celebration over the return of the child hostages.

            Sleep.  Sleep returned.  Blissful sleep returned without the noise of screams and violence.  CPAP now continues to be the life changing treatment I had hoped for.  My sleep is better, my weight is better, my exercise is fun, my life is sweet.  My dreams are noise free.