T GAMBLE: Making the best of 24 hours of mask-wearing

As we enter the second full year of COVID-19, I’m still waiting for the masks to start working and the pandemic to end. I’m not much of a believer in the masks. If they will block the flu, why in God’s name haven’t we been wearing them every flu season instead of going to the doctor’s office with a room full of folks with the flu? I also note since late August, more than 100 college stadiums each Saturday have been filled to capacity with football fans all across the country. Ninety-five percent of the attendees are maskless, yet there has not been a spike in COVID-19 from any of these mass functions.

Now I don’t care whether you wear a mask or not and if you have a place that requires them, I’ll wear it or not go there. I’m also vaccinated and a big believer that COVID-19 poses a real danger to anybody. But still, to me, mask wearing is something I hate. I get out of the car and get all the way to whatever store I’m about to enter and remember I left the mask in the car. I trudge back to retrieve the mask that has been worn so many times it carries bubonic plague by now. The strap breaks or I can’t find it or, well you get the picture. If you see me in a balled up position beside my vehicle sobbing, please know it is not from the tragic loss of a loved one, but rather I’ve finally broken from mask retrieval syndrome. Mask retrieval syndrome occurs when one has made one too many return trips to get a mask they forgot to bring with them and have now had to retrace too many steps in the day.

Now, I could be wrong about masks and God may be trying to get my attention. Recently I was tested for sleep apnea, as I come from a long line of folks who snore. As a young child, I would get up in the middle of the night, wake up my Grandmother and beg her to make Granddaddy Jones quit snoring. It was to no avail. The end result of the test is I was assigned a CPAP machine, which stands for continuous positive airway pressure. It stops one from snoring by pumping steady air and ups the oxygen content to the brain. It’s nice to know I have been operating with less than full oxygen for some time, but it probably comes as no surprise to those who know me.

For the machine to work, you have to wear a mask to sleep. A soft plastic mask with hoses, and noises, and pressing on your face. Oh brother, I can sleep better so long as I can sleep like I’m about to audition for a part in “20,000 Leagues Under the Sea” and wear full deep sea dive gear. As soon as you put on the mask and lie down to sleep, your nose itches. I think it says that in the instruction package. You can’t itch your nose without taking the mask off. If you turn over, the hose can get caught and turn off the air, then you are trapped in a mask with little air. Sometimes the mask shifts and air blows out the side, becoming ineffective and causing the machine to have a frowny face. I don’t like machines giving me frowny faces.

It is hard to get the mask set just right on your face so if you do happen to achieve this almost insurmountable goal, it is best not to remove the mask until the night’s sleep is over. That’s assuming you slept at all with an itching mask on your face and hooked up to a machine like you are in the intensive care unit of a hospital. So when my little 16-year-old rat terrier has to go potty early in the morning, I disconnect the hose and keep the mask on. I then get out in the yard with the mask on in my underwear as he does his thing. I’m surprised the neighbors haven’t reported an alien in my yard. I’m wandering around with a clear mask on and not much else. “Well, looks like old man Gamble has finally come unraveled.”

I guess I am doomed to wear a mask 24 hours a day. Such is my fate, I suppose. Anybody know if they are making a new Lone Ranger movie any time soon? I may be interested in a part.