Everyone knows that heat rises. Everyone also knows that I am full of hot air. Therefore, you could say with scientific certainty that I am an airhead.

But you would be wrong. That’s because, according to a respected sleep specialist, my head doesn’t get sufficient air.

That was the alarming finding in a sleep study I can’t fully remember because: (a) the oxygen level in my brain was low and (b) I was asleep.

“Losing air during sleep puts pressure on the brain,” Dr. Mohammad Amin told me during a meeting in his office.

“I didn’t think I had much brain activity to begin with,” I said.

“You have a good brain,” Dr. Amin assured me. “And a smart body.”

“Does that mean my backside is more intelligent than my cranium?” I wondered.

“No, it means that during the sleep study, you shifted positions so you could be more comfortable,” the good doctor said as he showed me a printout of the results.

Not surprisingly, I couldn’t make head or tail of them.

Listed under Patient Data was information about Recording Time (468.5-493.1 minutes), Total Sleep Time (339-372.9 minutes), Stage N3 (73 minutes) and Stage REM (39 minutes).

“REM is deep sleep,” Dr. Amin explained. “Most of your sleep during the study was shallow.”

“Is that because the bed wasn’t too high off the floor?” I inquired.

He looked at me like I still wasn’t getting sufficient oxygen to my brain.

“Your sleep was interrupted by a breathing problem,” Dr. Amin said as he went over Respiratory Data.

Then he discussed Body Position.

“Do you know what your favorite position was?” he asked.

“Centerfield?” I guessed.

“It was your left side,” he said. “You also spent time on your right side, though you began by lying on your back.”

“I knew you would have my back,” I said.

“You switched positions throughout the night,” Dr. Amin told me.

Finally, we discussed Snores, the recordings of which were on a scale that looked, truthfully, like a polygraph.

“The highest decibel was 8,” he said. “Yours was 2, which is not bad.”

“My wife would disagree,” I countered.

“The big concern is lack of oxygen,” Dr. Amin said. “It puts pressure on your brain and heart.”

He elaborated by saying I had PVC.

“I know,” I said. “The fence in our front yard is PVC.”

“The kind I’m talking about is Premature Ventricular Contraction,” the doctor said. “It affects the heart, which doesn’t like low oxygen.”

“What do you recommend?” I asked.

“You should get a CPAP machine,” he said, referring to a device that treats sleep apnea.

“Is that what I have?” I inquired.

“Yes,” Dr. Amin said. “You have a moderate case. With the CPAP, your snoring will go away and your heart and brain will be much happier with good oxygen.”

He added that the machine, which used to be bulky, isn’t much larger than a clock radio.

“You can put it on the nightstand next to your bed,” the doctor said, adding that I would be hooked up to it with a mask and tubing.

“Won’t it bother my wife?” I asked.

“Not at all,” Dr. Amin answered. “Right now, what bothers her the most?”

“My stupid jokes,” I said.

“How about snoring?” he said.

“That, too,” I conceded. “My wife devised what she calls a snore shield. She stands a pillow between us like a wall.”

“Does it work?” Dr. Amin asked.

“Not at all,” I answered.

“The CPAP will fix the problem,” he promised.

“Will it prevent me from telling stupid jokes?” I wondered.

“No,” Dr. Amin said. “Maybe you can invent a machine for that.”

“You mean like a joke shield?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said.

“OK,” I said. “I’ll sleep on it.”

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