Just Call Me Cleo

So, I was scheduled to have a follow up to my sleep study--in which a doctor would go over all the tests that I subjected myself to, and interpret them, and then conclude that I need to sleep with a mask over my face and with a machine next to my bed for the rest of my life. Can you tell that I'm not excited about this?

Anyway, that appointment was supposed to be today. And since I'm an erratic sleeper, I even had to set an alarm to make certain that I didn't sleep through it. But an hour before my appointment, I got a call: one of the doctors was ill, and the others have to all cover patients and hospital rounds, etc. etc., and not only is my appointment today canceled, I can't get rescheduled until they work something out with who is going to be where, and when.

Which I am just as glad about, I guess. It allows me a few more days to live in denial about my condition and the likely solution to it. Sure, I've had totally messed up sleep, and I've lost a disproportionate amount of my life to the many hours I need to sleep, and when I wake up I'm still groggy and kind of messed up. . .

Okay, so I guess I do need to do something about this. But I hate the headgear and the whole "I'm going to look horrible and not at all cute and not at all attractive and I should just go sleep in another room and spare Mr. Sweetie the pain" is really weighing on me.

Do you think if I add a tiara, I might not mind it so much?