The actual ‘beds’ for the sleep patients and their cases’ accrued data at the Darling Sleep Clinic were directly side by side, but were also markedly narrow, and possessed of thin, extremely firmly reinforced mattresses, as well as only one sheet and ‘medium weight’ acrylic blanket despite the sterile chill of the Sleep chamber. The diagnostic regimen — which took no little time and negotiations with our P.P.O. to secure coverage or ‘authorization’ concerning which — consisted of Hope and myself’s making the slightly over 90 mile (with myself, as usual, at the wheel while Hope dozed with her Travel pillow against the passenger side door) drive, via ‘I’-195 and State routes 9 and 18, one Wednesday evening per week, to Rutgers-Brunswick Memorial Hospital, and there ‘checking in’ at the institution’s Fourth floor’s Neurology\Somnology Dept., which contained the Edmund R. and Meredith R. Darling Memorial Sleep Clinic, whose reputation in the industry truly was, according to both Jack Vivien and other sources, ‘top-flight.’ The Sleep specialist (or, ‘Somnologist’) in charge of our case, a large, mild mannered, burly, heavily set fellow with a lead colored crew cut and what appeared to be an extraordinary number of keys on a promotional ‘Parke Davis, Inc.’ key ring — his manner pleasant in the neutral, subdued and punctilious way of morticians and certain types of Horticulture lecturers — appeared also to have what Hope later remarked was little or no discernible neck or throat per se, his head appearing to sit or, as it were, ‘rest’ directly upon his shoulders, which I pointed out may have only been an illusion or effect caused by the high collar of the Somnologist’s white Medical or ‘lab’ coat, which most of the other Darling Memorial Sleep Clinic’s staff on duty wore, as well, with laminated and ‘photo-’ Identification cards clipped (or, in A.D.C.’s Systems Dept.’s more familiar argot or parlance, ‘gator clipped’) to the breast pocket. Select members of the Somnologist’s technical staff (or, ‘Sleep team’) conducted our formal ‘Intake interview,’ with the M.D. himself then acting as docent or guide in briefly showing Hope and myself around the Darling Sleep Clinic facility, which appeared to consist of four or more small, self contained ‘Sleep chambers’ which were surrounded on all sides by soundless, clear, thick or ‘Plexi-’glass walls, sophisticated audio- and video recording devices, and neurological monitoring equipment. Dr. Paphian’s office itself was adjoined to the Clinic’s centrally located ‘Nerve-’ or ‘Command center,’ in which professional Somnologists, Neurologists, aides, technicians and attendants could observe the occupants of the different Sleep chambers on a wide variety of ‘Infra-red’ monitors and ‘brain’ wave measurement and display equipment. Every staff and ‘Sleep team’ member also wore white, noiseless shoes with gum or rubber soles, and the insubstantial blankets on each chamber’s bed were also either spotlessly white or else pastel or ‘sky-’ (or, ‘electric-’) blue. Also, the Darling Sleep Clinic’s system of ‘halogen’ based, track- or cove style, overhead lighting was white and completely shadowless (which is to say, no one in the facility appeared to cast any shadow, which, together with the funereal quiet, Hope felt, she said, lent a somewhat ‘dreamy’ or dream-like aspect to the atmosphere of the place) and made everyone appear sallow or ill, as well as its being markedly chilly in the Sleep chamber. The Somnologist explained that relatively cool temperatures conduced to both human sleep and to the complex measurements of brain wave activity which the Clinic’s sophisticated equipment was designed to monitor, explaining that different types and levels of ‘E.E.G.’ (or, ‘brain’) waves corresponded to several unique and distinct different levels or ‘stages’ of wakefulness and sleep, including the popularly known ‘R.E.M.-’ or ‘Paradoxical stage’ in which the voluntary muscles were paralyzed and dreams occurred. Each of the majority of his many keys was encased around the ‘head’ with a rubber or plastic casement, which, I hypothesized, cut down on the overall noise factor of the huge ring of keys when the Somnologist walked or stood holding the keys in his slightly moving palm in a way suggesting heft or the gauging of weight while he spoke, which was evidently his primary ‘nervous’ or unconscious habit. (Later, at the outset of the initial drive back home [before beginning, as was her usual wont, to doze or ‘nod’ against her side’s door], Hope posited that there seemed to her to be something reassuring, trustworthy or [in Hope’s own term] ‘substantial’ about a fellow with this many keys [with myself, for my own part, keeping to myself the fact that my own associations anent the keys were somewhat more janitorial].)
By arrangement, Hope and myself were to attend the Sleep Clinic once per week, on Wednesdays, for a total duration of from four to six weeks, sleeping over-night in the Sleep chamber under close observation. Much of the Intake data collection process concerned Hope and myself’s nocturnal routines or ‘rituals’ surrounding retiring and preparing for sleep (these said ‘rituals’ being both common to and unique or distinctive of most married couples, the Sleep specialist explained), in order that these logistics and practices might be ‘re-created’—with the obvious exception of any physically intimate or sexual routines, the Somnologist inserted, clinically evincing no discernible embarrassment or ‘shyness’ as Hope avoided my glance — as closely as possible on these ‘over-nights,’ as we prepared to sleep under observation. In separate Dressing rooms, we first changed in to light green hospital gowns and disposable slippers, then proceeded in tandem to our assigned Sleep chamber, Hope using one hand to keep the long vertical ‘slit’ or incision or ‘cleft’ at the rear of her gown clenched shut over her bottom. Neither the gowns nor the high intensity lighting were what anyone would term ‘flattering’ or ‘modest’—and Hope, as a woman, later remonstrated to me that she had felt somewhat demeaned or ‘violated’ to be sleeping under thin coverlets with nameless persons observing her through a glass partition. (Frequent remarks or complaints like this were argumentative ‘bait’ to which I refused to respond or engage on the long, return rides home so early the following morning, where I would hurriedly shave, change clothes and prepare for the by now torturous, ‘peak hour’ commute up to Elizabeth for a full day of work. A frequent habit of Hope’s was sometimes to seemingly agree or acquiesce to a proposal and wait to give voice to her objections until the ‘agreed upon’ course of action was under way, at which time what would have been reasonable caveats and reservations now emerged as being merely pointless carping. I had, however, by this point in the conflict, learned to suppress frustration, indignation or even pointing out that the time for such complaints being productive had long passed, as pointing this out inevitably leads to the sort of conjugal argument or ‘clash of wills’ in which there can be no winner. One should also insert, as I had done to Chester [or (“For God’s sake”), ‘Jack’] Vivien, that our respective make-ups were such that conflict or argument was more difficult or ‘harder’ on myself than on either Hope, Naomi or Audrey, all of whom seemed to have a comparatively easy time of ‘shaking off’ the adrenaline and upset of a heated exchange.) We were instructed or encouraged to bring our personal hygiene or grooming products from home, and to use (first Hope doing so, then myself, just as at home) a private washroom and to undergo our personal hygiene ‘rituals’ in preparation for sleep (with, however, Hope eschewing her facial emollient, hair net, moisturizer and gloves due to the observers and panoply of ‘low light’ cameras, despite instructions to mimic, as closely as possible, our at home routines). Aides or attendants subsequently affixed white, circular ‘E.E.G.’ patches or ‘leads’—whose conductive gels were extremely chilly and ‘queer’ feeling, Hope observed — to our heads’ temples, foreheads, upper chests and arms, whereupon we then lay carefully or ‘gingerly’ down along the lengths of the Sleep chamber’s parallel beds, careful to avoid tangling the complex nests of wires which led from the leads to a grey chassised ‘relay’ or ‘induction’ monitor which hummed quietly in the Sleep chamber’s north-east corner. The ‘Sleep team’ technicians — some of whom, it emerged, were enrolled Medical students at nearby Rutgers University — wore the customary noiseless, white foot wear and ‘lab’ coats unbuttoned over casual or ‘mufti’ clothing. Somewhat surprisingly, three of our Sleep chamber’s apparently ‘glass’ walls were, upon being inside them, revealed to be, in reality, mirrored, such that we could not, from inside, see any of the technicians or recording equipment, while the fourth or final wall’s interior comprised a sophisticated, ‘Wall sized’ video screen or ‘projection’ of various commonly relaxing or soporific vistas, ‘scenes’ or tableaux: fields of nodding wheat, trickling streams, Winter spruces trimmed in fresh snow, small forest animals nibbling at deciduous ground fall, a sea-side sunset and so forth in this vein. The twin beds’ mattress and lone pillows were also revealed to be layered in a plastic compound which crinkled audibly under any movement, which I personally found distracting and somewhat unsanitary. The beds also contained metal railings along the sides which appeared rather higher and more substantial than the rails or sides one is accustomed to associating with a more typical ‘Hospital’ bed. Our case’s assigned Somnologist — Dr. Paphian, with his aforementioned subdued countenance and short, ‘salt and pepper’ hair-cut and sessile head — explained that some patients’ particular sleep dysfunctions involved somnambulism or certain frenetic or even potentially violent movements in the midst of sleep, and that the 24.5 inch brushed steel railings affixed to the chambers’ beds’ sides had been mandated by the Sleep Clinic’s insurance underwriter.