I'm Not Actually Fat, I Swear!

I've almost always been small and compact. Small because I'm five feet tall and am scaled even smaller than petite (I fit better into child-sized clothing than adult-sized clothing). Compact because I'm not actually thin, but I'm not really large, either. I'm more thick and built like my Italian peasant ancestors before me.

I once explained density to my young felons by displaying my compactness for all to see. They all thought density was the same thing as weight, which I knew was incorrect because I had finally grasped the concept of density the week before. This misconstruction of such an important scientific concept could not stand, but I could definitely stand.

I stood at the front of the class and called everyone's attention.

"Guys," I deadpanned as best I could, "I've got a question for you all. How much do you think I weigh?"

Shocked looks from everyone involved.

"No, really, what do you guys think?"

Someone raised a timid hand.

"Uh, sorry miss, I don't wanna be rude. I think you're about 115."

"Well," I shot back, "You're wrong."

"Oh."

"Anybody else?"

"Miss, you 120?" asked a particularly annoying kid, whom I had silently nicknamed Mr. Incredibly Self-Conscious.

"Nope. Guess again."

And so they did, for the next three minutes. Then I pulled back the curtain of my self-revelation.

"You were all off by about twenty pounds."

Audible, possibly exaggerated, gasps filled the room.

"Anybody know why you all guessed on the low end?"

Silence.

"It's because I'm very dense. I'm short and small, but I have lots of muscle. I have more fat rolls than you thought I did because they're part of a smaller space than most people."

Heads nodded. They got it. Many relieved faces. Oh, so maybe not all females got incredibly annoyed if they asked you how much they weighed and you got it wrong.

"Miss," said Mr. Incredibly Self-Conscious, all six feet standing up. "How dense do you think I am?"

"You," yelled the youth worker, "Are a heck of a lot denser than you think. Now sit down and do your work."

I cut off the discussion.

But all science lessons aside, I've been noticeably dumpy only once in my life. That was my senior year of college, when I lived off campus and discovered brownie mix. To my credit, I actually lost it all a year later, so maybe I'm not as lazy as people tell me I am.

Even though I'm not actually fat, and I don't look especially chunky, lots of people have actually thought that I was quite severely obese.

It started when I called up my doctor about five years ago or so and asked for an evaluation.

On the operating table (I'm not a fan of doctors), I voiced my breathing concerns to my all-business Ukrainian doctor. Most times when I tried to drop off to sleep, I said, I would stop breathing all of a sudden, and I would wake up. This would happen a few times a night, and I always got to bed late. Oh, and I was always really sleepy and ready to go to bed at any time, like at 8 AM.

My doctor referred me to a sleep specialist. This was terrifying. I scheduled an appointment, nearly dying in the attempt.

A few weeks later, I walked into the sleep specialist's office.

"Hi! How can I help you today?" My, what a bubbly secretary. She must just love torturing people.

"I'm here for an evaluation," I said. "Sleep study with the doctor at 7."

"You're here for an evaluation? Really?"

What was this?

"Uh, yes, I'm here for a sleep study."

"OK," bubbled the secretary. Why the surprised look? "Here's some paperwork you should fill out. Have a seat and we'll be with you shortly."

Hmmmm.

After an absolutely awful night hooked up with two dozen different cords on my head to some kind of weird machine, the sleep specialist broke the news. I had sleep apnea, a fairly common condition where some random muscles in the throat collapse during sleep, cutting off the air supply. Once there was no air coming in, the brain alerts the body that something is not right, effectively booting all the involved members out of a deep sleep into a partially awake sleep for air. On one hand, it's good that your brain is trying to save you from death every night. On the other hand, you're not really getting to sleep, like ever. I was told that I had fairly moderate sleep apnea and stopped breathing approximately twelve times per hour.

Well, that explained why I would close my eyes when driving down long, straight stretched of a deserted road in an attempt to get some sleep.

The cure for sleep apnea, said the doctor, was to use a machine called a CPAP (or a BiPAP in my particularly sensitive case) while sleeping. This machine pumps air into your lungs as you sleep, basically giving you CPR whenever you have an apnea, and creating terrible air bubbles in your stomach every morning. Okay, they didn't actually tell me that last one, but it certainly happened to me until I got my air pressure settings all figured out.

Lacking the proper insurance, I shelled out $1200 of my own money to buy a complete BiPAP rig. It took me a horrible eight months to be able to sleep through the night hooked up to a machine, but it was also one of the best decisions I had ever made. It did wonders for my general health and well-being.

But then, everybody started thinking I was really fat.

It started when I bought my equipment from a place online. I had to read a disclosure agreement first.

Sleep apnea is a common condition that effects many individuals of all ages. There are two basic treatments for sleep apnea. Your doctor may prescribe a CPAP or a BiPAP machine. Many patients have also had success minimizing and curing sleep apnea by losing excessive body weight. Talk with your doctor about weight management as a possible treatment option for sleep apnea.

But I wasn't fat!

Then I joined a sleep apnea online forum for general BiPAP help, because the thing was a real pain to manipulate (and I had to do it all by my lonesome, since my insurance didn't cover it). All the users assumed that I was fat. Many assumed that I was also male and 50+. After a while, I got so sick of the obesity assumptions that I created a custom signature promising my fellow posters that I was not fat. Really.

I am a female in my twenties. Five feet tall and 123 pounds. That is a healthy weight. I have had undiagnosed sleep apnea since I was in high school.

No, seriously, I'm not fat. Really.

I had to fill out that stupid medical history form every time I went to a new doctor or specialist. Everybody lifted their eyebrows in shock.

"Wow, that's very unusual! You seem to be at a normal weight."

I am not fat. I swear.

My sister had trouble sleeping, so she went for a sleep study, just like me. She told the nurse she thought that she might have sleep apnea.

"Oh, I don't think so, honey," soothed the nurse.

"Well, my sister has sleep apnea."

"Yes, dear, but you're so thin!"

So even the actual sleep specialists thought I was, uh, special. And, you know, fat.

I. Am. Not. Fat.

But seriously, although I am not fat (really!), the typical sleep apnea patient really is fat. And male. And usually over the age of fifty.

Remember, apneas are caused by collapsing throat muscles. Most people have sleep apnea because they're so fat that the fat on their neck is pushing down on their throat, making the muscles collapse and inducing apneas.

But I'm not fat. Nor am I obese. Slightly overweight, you could even argue. But my neck is tiny.

The Grace Is Fat assumptions are probably going to happen throughout my life until I am miraculously cured of my sleep apnea. However, I did find out why I have sleep apnea even though I am an atypical apneatic.

I had minor surgery two years ago and had to be sedated at the hospital. The actual surgically-repaired area felt absolutely fine post-op, but my throat felt like it was bruised. The doctor called me a few days later to give me a heads-up. Apparently they had a dickens of a time intubating me during the procedure. I have, according to the doctor, a very, very narrow windpipe. And that was causing my sleep apnea.

So there you have it. I'm not fat, I'm not obese, I just sleep with a mask on my face that makes Darth Vader noises when Dan is trying to drift off.

I am compact, not fat. I am dense, not obese. And now, secure in my BMI, I'm going to chow down a very large piece of Dan's cilantro-cheese bread.