Fighting with my CPAP

Sign this whole CPAP machine thing is working #1: I’ve had two nights without it and I feel like crap.

It took me a month to have a night off. Exactly a month, which is a bit eerie as I wasn’t planning not to use my machine either night I haven’t worn it.

It starts with a panic attack. Well, an almost panic attack. I can feel a ball in my chest and I can’t catch my breath and I can’t help but think “surely oxygenated air fired directly into my lungs will only help this situation?”.

I put the mask on, and I turn on my CPAP, and I can feel the air flow, like always. That click moment and the current coming towards me. I lie down, still trying to catch my breath. I can feel the mask pressed tightly against my skin, and it’s never ever felt claustrophobic before… but it does right now.

There’s a sore on my face. Down the left side of my nose, behind my nose ring. I don’t think the piercing actively has anything to do with the skin irritation, but it’s a hell of a coincidence that the side of my face that’s really flaring up is that one.

Although, it often was before the mask too.

Skin issues aren’t anything new to me: my skin is so sensitive that I often break out whilst using products marked for sensitive skin. I’ve had some weird allergic reactions to one specific pharmacy’s brand of ‘for sensitive skin’ plasters and tape, and I get red patches of dry skin whenever I eat cranberries (this does not stop me eating festive sandwiches come December every year though). The first few weeks with my CPAP I was honestly surprised I didn’t have a flare up. I use a full-face mask - not just a nose mask - as I breathe out of my mouth in my sleep as well, so there’s a fairly decent amount of mask-meeting-skin and with my track record…

I’ve been careful - thorough and systematic with moisturisers and cleaning my equipment - but no amount of skincare beats stress, and my face can only take so much.

So: it’s 3am, I’m starting to hyperventilate, there’s whatever-material-my-mask-is-made-of pressing firmly against my irritated skin, and whenever I lie in the position I’m most comfortable in when I’m in this state, I can feel air escaping out of the lining on my mask.

And I think, actually, this isn’t worth it.

Normal sleep isn’t worth it.

I try for 25 minutes. I know this because the next day my stats tell me so.

I’ll go through what data I can see on the daily properly in a later post, but I can’t not show this one. It’s the lowest score I’ve ever gotten - especially as it’s remarkably easy to get the full 100, but that’s because most of the marks come from the amount of time used. 

The stat that horrifies me is the events per hour.

Before getting my machine, I know my events per hour rate - the amount of apnoeas I have on average - is 29.7. With the mask, I’ve been anywhere from 1-6 events per hour. A pretty dramatic reduction.

62.4 is horrifying. 

62.4 events per hour with 25 minutes use? That means that, in that 25 minutes, I stopped breathing, for over 30 seconds at a time, on 26 separate occasions.

The next night I don’t wear the face mask because, frankly, I don’t want to. 

It’s silly, really. Like logically I know I need it. I know that sleep without my CPAP isn’t good sleep. I know I struggled to wake up that morning because I hadn’t used it, I know I’m more tired than other people also on only a few hours sleep.

Except the part of my brain that knows all this is not the part that kicks in at bedtime. Instead, the part of my brain that kicks in is the part that’s scared. The part that feels out of control and balances this by staying awake reading fanfiction until I pass out still wearing my glasses, let alone having settled down properly enough to bother putting my mask on.

I’m trying not to beat myself up about it. I’m trying and I’m mostly succeeding. I still don’t feel totally in control, and part of my brain still really, really, doesn’t want to wear the mask for a bit. Just a few days. But I can feel my body flagging. I can feel the exhaustion creeping in behind my eyes. Every muscle in my face feels heavy, and it’s a constant battle to keep my eyes open during the day - and then also impossible to close them willingly at night.

I’ve spent enough time around babies to know when they’re fighting sleep for no good reason, and I’m self aware enough to know that that’s what I’m doing right now. Whether I can talk my brain out of it is something else entirely.

No type of therapy is linear, sleep therapy included. One set-back (or two) does not mean things are not getting better.

Still, let’s set which part of my brain wins tonight.