Sleep is a very fickle thing. In my life it has been a sneaky bandit, a beguiling roommate, an overpowering invader and an elusive butterfly. It has robbed me, refreshed me, unnerved me and tranquilized me.

Clearly, sleep has been a strange bedfellow for me. I can lose it or I can fall fast in it. I can catch forty winks or just drop a few ZZZs. And I can sleep like a log or toss and turn like a sausage link sizzling on a hot skillet.

I can talk in my sleep, snore, snort and sniffle. But there’s something else I can do regarding sleep: I can fall asleep anywhere, anytime.

My one daughter calls me “Joe Narcolepsy.” My wife calls me, “Michael, wake up, I’m talking to you.”

I mentioned my propensity for Slumberland to my doctor and he conducted a sleep survey with me to discern if I have some kind of sleep disorder. One bad sign was when I fell asleep during the survey.

When he compiled my score, it was three times the threshold of a probable sleep problem. “Perhaps it’s time for a sleep study, Mr. Sandman,” he said with a chuckle.

OK. I heard about sleep studies. You go somewhere and sleep. I did that all the time. And if I scored so high on the survey, the study should be a snap.

I had a consultation with a pulmonologist in the afternoon and was set up for the study that very night. I arrived at 9:30 p.m. ready to bed down with my three trusty pillows, a Clive Cussler novel and my Ernie Banks jammies.

The lady technician sat me down and started to attach electrodes all over my body. I had so many wires I felt like a transatlantic cable. I swear I was getting an FM station through the temporal lobe of my brain.

I was told to lay down and not try to move around too much.

“Have a good night’s sleep,” she said cheerfully.

“Sure,” I thought, “It’ll be easy to doze off in a helix cocoon of coaxial tendrils.”

I lay there waiting to be overcome by sleep, but it wasn’t coming easy. It was Me versus Sleep, the Battle of the Circadian Rhythms. And I was losing badly.

About midnight the technician came in and asked if I wanted something to help me sleep.

“You mean like watching an episode of ‘P. Allen Smith Gardens?’”

“Oh no, it’s just a little pill,” she explained.

I gratefully took the pill, laid down again and the next thing I knew she was waking me up at 6 a.m.

Later it was explained to me that I needed to take home a loaner CPAP machine and make an appointment to see the doctor to discuss my results. Evidently, if there was a trophy for sleep apnea, I had just won it.

That night I tried the machine out. I looked like an X-15 test pilot and sounded like Darth Vader. I couldn't resist talking to my wife as we lay together in the
dark … the soft, repetitive murmur of my breathing floating from my face mask …

“Honey, can I tell you something?”

“Sure, Michael.”

“I am your faaather.”

Sweet dreams, my faithful readers.

• Michael Penkava taught a bunch of kids and wrote a bunch of stuff. He actually sleeps and feels a lot better and urges anyone with sleep issues to talk to their doctor. He also warns husbands not to use the Darth Vader line on their wives too often. The Force will not be with you. He can be reached at mikepenkava@comcast.net.