It’s official.

The doctors at the Sleep Disorders Center of Ellis Hospital say I have a moderate case of sleep apnea.

I’ve been afflicted for years, and it’s the main reason I am often tired during the day. I’m weary because I’m not getting a solid eight hours of snooze every night. It’s more like a bunch of minutes here and there, and hundreds of involuntary interruptions between dark and dawn.

After years of complaints and annoyances, I am finally taking steps to correct the problem. One of those major steps took place Sept. 14, when I pulled an all-nighter at the sleep center’s headquarters at the Ellis McClellan Campus. It meant tossing and turning while I was wired for sound and motion, tangled up with bunches of electrodes and wires. While I grabbed four hours of sleep, a technician observed and logged electronic feedback.

You can read the first piece by clicking HERE.

Met with Dr. Mike at the sleep lab this morning. And he tossed some numbers my way that were kind of startling, at first.

My night on camera was not a somnolent affair. I woke up 116 times during the test, which began for me at about 1:30 a.m. and ended at 5:30 a.m. These “wakes” were measured as fluctuations of brain wave frequencies. Of course, these momentary jolts were not recorded my personal log. I didn’t remember a one.

Breathing is a bigger concern. I stopped breathing 107 times during the test. Yeah, stopped! My respiratory system took brief coffee breaks, and left the rest of me high and dry. Eventually, the brain signals a wake-up mechanism, as if to say, “Somebody rouse this damn fool or he’s going to suffocate. Then we’re all out of a job!” Adrenaline gets moving, and I get one of 107 jolts to start the old in-and-out once again. These jolts can put a strain on the cardiovascular system, and that’s what I’m trying to avoid.

But wait, as the old Ronco boys used to say — there’s more! Dr. Mike said my longest stretch without real quality oxy was 67.7 seconds. And he was quick to explain it wasn’t like I was holding my breath ... it was more like if I was breathing at all, it was real shallow. Like a zombie. I stopped breathing about 27 times an hour. The leg sensors, which I thought were a waste of time, earned their keep. I kicked, or experienced restless movements of legs or feet, 210 times.

Of course, I was snoring like a melon farmer. “All three positions,” said the sleep doctor. “Side, back and side.” So much for my internal programming: I always try to sleep on my sides and stay off my back ... looks like internal demons just take over everything after midnight.

The doctor says people with more severe cases of sleep apnea — defined as a disorder characterized by pauses in breathing during sleep — have stopped breathing for up to two minutes. I don’t have to cash out savings and checking accounts for a six-month, end-of-my-world binge ... this is not going to kill me, at least not for a while. I’ll take another step to keep the Grim Reaper on the persona non grata list by bunking with the Sandmen on Tuesday, Nov. 17.

This time, I’ll try out an air mask that looks like the gear jet fighter pilots wear. Air will be forced into me, whether the internal demons want it or not. Different air pressures will be tried during the night, and hopefully the sleep team will come up with a system I can live with and live for.

And, losing weight is also a plus. People with big necks — and mine must support a large, Irish, canned ham-sized head — are prime candidates for sleep woes. But it can be a weird cycle. People can be too tired to exercise because they haven’t slept well ... although I was on one of the YMCA’s space bikes at 8:30 a.m. this morning for 11 miles on the “Gut Buster” program.

For now, I guess I’m going to give that air pumping machine another shot. I’ve written about this before, too ... plastic tubes up the nose, plastic noose holding the tubes around the head, a lousy sleep experience. But 107 times without air seems even more uncomfortable. Especially when that discomfort could lead to a more peaceful, undisturbed, eternal sleep on an oblong mattress with a granite headboard in a dark, cold, muddy room.

I guess it’s nothing to joke about. And I told Dr. Mike I might be blogging about my continuing nocturnal adventures, and he was all for it. If people who read these stories say, “You know, that could be me! I’m also getting a lousy night's sleep!” Well, maybe they’ll see their doctors and sign up for a couple nights of wired surveillance.

The only other option is not sleeping. Ever.

Like to see how that turns out.