A Chesnut Hill Local writer describes his PSG.
Sheila turned the lights out. I lay in the dark thinking how weird it was to be less than a mile from home, lying like the meatball in a spaghetti of wires. The silence suddenly changed when, from a speaker in the wall near my head, I heard Sheila say, “Okay, Hugh, let’s make sure everything’s working. Lift your right hand. Good. Now your left. Okay, your right foot. Your left. Okay. Look to the right. Look to the left. Blink.” So, all my points of attachment were affirmed. But it’s the strangest feeling to know one’s every move is being monitored, as though a pair of eyes were penetrating the darkness and watching my slightest move.
