Midlife Wellness Community Facebook ad: “If your sleep numbers are good and you still can't get…”

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I set up CPAP machines in people's houses. Nineteen years. And the hardest part of that job is not the part anybody would guess. It's the thirty day check. Because about once a month I sit down at somebody's kitchen table, read them a report that says their treatment is working exactly the way it's supposed to work, and watch them go quiet. Not relieved. Quiet. I've had people cry at that table. Not because the news was bad. Because the news was good, and they still feel the way they feel, and now there is nothing left on the list. There's a folded piece of paper in the door pocket of my van that's been in there since March. It's a copy of one woman's thirty day report. I printed two by mistake and I should have thrown the second one out in her driveway. I've moved it twice when I cleaned that van out. Both times I put it back. Let me tell you what my job actually is, because most people think it's dropping off a box. I work for a home respiratory company. Somebody gets diagnosed with sleep apnea, their doctor writes the order, and I'm the one who shows up at the house with the machine. I set it up on the nightstand. I fit the mask. I show them the humidifier, the ramp, how to wash the cushion, what to do when the tubing sweats and drips cold water on their face at three in the morning, which it will. And then I keep coming back. That's the part nobody knows about. Cushions get replaced monthly. Masks every few months. Filters, tubing, headgear. So I'm back in these same houses two, three, four times a year, for years. Nineteen years of that means there are people whose kitchens I have stood in more times than my own sister's. I'm not their doctor. I'm not anybody's doctor. I'm a guy with a van and a route. But I'll tell you what I've got that a doctor doesn't have, and it took me most of those nineteen years to understand it was worth anything. I see them in the morning. In their own house. Before they've put the face on. A doctor sees you at a scheduled appointment where you showered and drove there and sat in a waiting room and got yourself ready to be looked at. I knock on the door at eight forty in the morning and whoever answers it is whoever they actually are. And I see the same person doing that, over and over, across years. Corinne was a setup I did three years ago in the spring. She was 38 then. She's 41 now. She takes X-rays at an urgent care out on the highway, the one in the strip mall next to the tax place. Her machine sat on a nightstand in a back bedroom with a lamp and a stack of library books on it and a water glass that had a ring in it from being in the same spot too long. She was easy. Some people fight the mask for months. She had it figured out in about four days, went to a nasal cushion in the first week, and never had a problem with it again. Her thirty day download was one of the cleanest I've pulled. Six point nine hours a night, average. Almost no leak. The events the machine is there to catch, it was catching. I told her that at her kitchen table and she said, "So that's it? That's fixed?" And I said what I say, which is that the therapy's doing its job and she should give it some time. She said, "Okay." And she wrote something on the calendar on the side of the fridge. For three years after that, every single download I ever pulled off that machine looked the same. She never had a bad month. Not one. I have customers who use it four nights a week and lie about it. Corinne used it every night for three years and the numbers never moved off perfect. And every time I came back, she looked worse. I want to be careful how I say this next part, because I'm not a doctor and I'm not going to talk like one. The machine was doing what it's for. Her apnea was treated. It stayed treated. Nobody in this story ever stopped using one, including her, including now, and if you're on one I'm not telling you to do a single thing differently. I'm telling you that a woman got the exact thing she was told would fix it, got it perfectly, for three years, and was still so tired she couldn't stay in a room. There's a dining room table in that house that I walked past probably fifteen times before I ever looked at it. She and her boy did puzzles. That was their thing. Wes is ten now. She told me once, standing in the kitchen while I was writing up a supply order, that they'd had a puzzle going on that table continuously since he was five. One would get finished and the next one would go down the same night. She said her husband complained about eating dinner on the couch for five years. Somewhere in there she stopped being able to do it. And here's the part she told me later that I keep thinking about, because it isn't the part you'd expect. It wasn't that she fell asleep. She sat down at that table on a Saturday afternoon with him, and she'd pick up a piece, and look at the box, and look back down, and she'd have lost where she was looking. She'd do it again. Same thing. Ten minutes of that. She was not tired the way you're tired after a long week. She was gone in a way where the room was still there and she wasn't in it. Wes watched her do it for a while. And then he said, "You can go lay down if you want." He was eight. He said it kind. That's the part that got her. She said no. She stayed at that table another twenty minutes and did not put in one piece. And then she went and laid down. They did it a few more times over that year and then they didn't. That puzzle is still on that table. About two thirds done. She pushed it to one end and they eat around it now, and neither of them has ever said one word about it out loud. Nobody started a new one. And there's the other thing, which nobody in that house ever said either. Her husband's name is Gil. He drives a truck for a beverage distributor, he's gone Tuesday through Thursday most weeks, and he is not a bad guy. I want to be clear about that because it would be easy to make him one and it wouldn't be true. He just didn't believe her. Not out loud. He never said "I don't believe you." He said things like, is your machine on right. He said, did you use it last night. He said, maybe ask them to check the settings. Every one of those is a question about the equipment. And every one of them means the same thing underneath, which is that if the treatment works and you still feel like this, then the problem is you. She started answering him with the number. She'd say six point nine. She'd say I used it every night, I use it every night, you can look. And in March, on a supply run, she asked me if there was any way to print the report. I said sure. I've got a little printer in the van. It's not something people ask for. She said her doctor didn't need it. She said she wanted to put it somewhere Gil would see it. I printed it in the driveway and I hit the button twice by accident and got two. She took hers inside and I stood there in the cold holding the other one. A grown woman asked me for documentation that she was not lazy. To show her husband. In her own house. That's what's in my door. I asked her that day how long she'd been running like this. And she gave me the list the way you give a list you've given a lot of times. Two full blood panels, a year apart. Thyroid, iron, ferritin, B12, vitamin D, A1C, the metabolic panel. Every line inside range, both times. The sleep study that got her the machine in the first place, and then a repeat titration study a year and a half later that came back saying the pressure was right where it should be. In bed by nine thirty. She tracked it. Seven and a half hours most nights and the machine agreed with her about that, which is more than most people can say. No caffeine after eleven. She'd tested it both directions for a month each way. Alcohol gone for a year, then back for six weeks to be sure, then gone again. Walking on the treadmill in the garage, three miles, four days a week, which she started for this specific reason and kept doing for two years after it didn't do anything. Then she said, "So it's me. That's the only thing left." She'd decided that about a year before I asked. And once a person decides that, they stop looking. She told me she hadn't searched anything about it in over a year, and she said it like it was a sign of maturity. It took me a long time to see what was wrong with that list, and I only saw it because of what I do for a living. Every single thing on it was about the night. Sleep earlier. Sleep longer. Sleep deeper. Treat the apnea. Check the pressure. Cut the coffee so the night is better. Cut the wine so the night is better. Walk in the afternoon so the night is better. Twelve or thirteen things, three years, and every one of them was an attempt to improve one eight hour window. Not one thing on that list had anything to do with whether her body could still make energy. And I didn't have any business knowing that. Except that I'd been printing the wrong document at kitchen tables for nineteen years and never once read it properly. Look at what's actually on one of my reports. Hours the machine ran. The pressure it held. How much air leaked out around the mask. How many events it caught and stopped. Every one of those is a fact about the air in the room. Not one of them is a fact about the person in the bed. That machine has never measured Corinne. It measures what I deliver to her. That is the only thing it was ever built to do, and it does it well, and it is not a failure of the machine that it can't tell you anything else. I'd been handing people a delivery record and letting them read it as a verdict on themselves. So I went and read at night for about a month, on the couch, with the TV on and not on. This is going to be a van driver's version of it and it's probably rough in places. There is no refill. That was the thing that undid a picture I'd had my whole life. I thought sleep was a tank filling. You go under at eleven, you come up at six with a full one, you spend it down through the day, and if you wake up empty then something went wrong in the night. That's not what's happening. Your body doesn't store energy anywhere. It manufactures it, continuously, the entire time — while you're asleep, while you're awake, while you're standing in your own kitchen at two in the afternoon wondering what is wrong with you. It makes it about as fast as you spend it. What it makes is called ATP. Every cell you have runs on it, and your heart and your muscles and your brain take the biggest share, because those three never close. It gets made inside the cells, in the mitochondria, and it doesn't happen in one move. It runs down a line. Fuel and oxygen go in one end and something you can actually spend comes out the other. And partway down that line there's one molecule whose whole job is to take the charge off one step and carry it to the next, and then turn around and go back for another. It doesn't make anything itself. It moves it along. That molecule is CoQ10. When there's less of it, the line doesn't shut off. It just gets less done per pass. Same air in. Same food in. Less usable energy coming out the far end. Your body makes its own. You make the most of it you will ever make at around twenty, and after that it comes down a little every year, and there is no morning it happens on, because one percent of anything is invisible. There's a paper from 1989 where they measured it directly in human tissue across a whole range of ages. Heart muscle, ages nineteen to twenty-one: around 110 micrograms per gram. Ages seventy-seven to eighty-one: around 47. I couldn't tell you what any of that means at the chemistry level and I'm not going to sit here and act like I can. What I can do is read two numbers off a page, which is most of my job, and one of those is less than half the other one. And then I hit the thing that changed how I do my job. It isn't on the panel. Not the CBC. Not the metabolic panel. Not thyroid. Not iron or ferritin. Not B12, not vitamin D, not A1C. There is a test for it. It's a specialty send-out — the sample has to be frozen within hours of the draw and run on a machine most hospitals don't own, and it gets used for research and for a rare category of disease. Nobody orders it at a physical. Not for Corinne, not for me, not for anybody. So both her panels were right. Every number on both sheets was accurate. Nobody missed anything, because there was nothing sitting on that page to miss. And it is not on a sleep study either. A sleep study is a very good look at your breathing and your heart rate and what your brain waves are doing across a night. It is not a look at whether your cells can still turn a night into anything. Two different questions. She got a correct answer to one of them, twice, and spent three years thinking it was an answer to the other. She'd already taken CoQ10. She brought it up herself, about four minutes into a phone call, in the voice of somebody who has had this exact conversation before and would like to skip to the end of it. That's not surprising to me anymore. The people who do everything right are the same people who have bought everything once. She had one of those personalized vitamin packs. The subscription kind, where they send you thirty little pouches in a box with your name printed on the front and each pouch is your day. She went and got the box out of the cabinet over the coffee maker and read one properly for the first time, standing at the counter, and then she read it to me over the phone. Fourteen ingredients in that pouch. CoQ10 was in there. Thirty milligrams. And here's the thing that isn't her fault at all. The entire product is designed so that you never read it. That's what you're paying the extra money for — you don't have to think, you don't have to decide, you tear the corner off and swallow what's in there and go. Reading the label defeats the purpose of the label. She took it at six in the morning at the counter with her coffee, before she ate anything, on her way out to open the clinic. And she did that for about two months. Now that's four things and it reads like four things. It's one. Not enough of it ever got where it was going, and what did get there wasn't there long enough to do anything. The doses in the research sit at 200 milligrams and up, so at 30 she wasn't close. It's fat soluble, which means on an empty stomach with black coffee a real share of it goes straight through you and out. It isn't a stimulant, so there was never going to be a morning where she felt something. It builds up in tissue over weeks — blood levels don't even level off for two to four weeks, and most of what turns up in the research turns up between week four and week twelve. Two months on a fraction of the dose, absorbed badly, is not a failed trial. It's most of the way to the starting line. She spent another year and a half certain she'd already tried it. Before she started, she called her doctor's office. I'm going to keep saying this part because it's the part everybody skips. She gave the nurse line the name, the dose and the form, and asked whether there was any reason not to add it given everything else she's on. They called her back in two days. No concerns, bring it up at the next visit. You are not calling for permission. It's a supplement, not a prescription. You're calling because that office has your whole medication list in front of them and you're working off memory, and because this does interact with some things. Blood thinners are the main one to raise. And if you take a statin, that's a real conversation with whoever prescribed it, because the pathway your body uses to make CoQ10 overlaps with the one for cholesterol. And I need to say the other half of that, and I'm going to say it twice in this thing because I'm the guy who carries these machines up people's front steps. She did not change one thing about her therapy. Not the pressure, not the hours, not one night off. She used the machine that night and every night since and she is going to keep using it. Nothing here replaces anything. This went on top. What she takes is called solia. Two hundred milligrams of pharmaceutical grade CoQ10 per capsule, as ubiquinone. One ingredient. The whole label is the CoQ10, rice flour and a vegetable capsule — nothing on it to wonder about and no blend total to squint at. Third party tested every batch before it ships. Made in the USA in a GMP certified facility. Vegan, non-GMO. One capsule a day, with a meal, because of the fat. That's the whole protocol. If there'd been a schedule I'd have put it back down. She started the first week of April. She told me the first three weeks were flat and that she came close to stopping, mostly because stopping is what she'd always done at that point. What kept her on it was that she'd told her sister ninety days, out loud, and she didn't want to have to report back at day thirty. Here's what I saw, and I'm only giving you what I saw, from a van, on a supply route. I was back there in June for cushions. The puzzle was off the end of the table. It was in the middle, and it was finished, and there was a second one started next to it with the edge pieces done. I didn't say anything about it. I wrote up the order and left. In August she told me Wes had started picking them himself at the store, which he'd never done, because for two years there was no point. That's it. That's the whole of what I've got on her. I've told eleven people on my route about it since. Not as part of my job — I want to be plain about that, I don't sell anything, and I say it standing in a kitchen after I'm done working. Six have come back to me. Hollis is 66, retired off the county road crew. He takes the dog around the whole block again instead of turning at the corner. He mentioned it like it was nothing. Yolanda is 57 and she does her own grocery shopping again instead of doing pickup, which she'd been doing for two years and had a whole story about the convenience of. Trevor is 36, he's got a small engine shop, and he told me in November he'd started closing up himself again at six instead of having his brother-in-law do it. And Emmett, who is 60, gave it the entire ninety days and told me flat out that he could not tell one bit of difference. He's still on his machine, he's still tired, and I'm not going to leave him out of this to make the rest of it sound better. That happens. It happened to one of the six people who bothered to tell me. One more didn't finish the bottle and told me she couldn't say either way. That's four out of six, and I'm a guy with a van, not a study, and none of them can prove it and neither can I. Now I have to turn this on myself, because I told you at the start there's a piece of paper in my door. I'm 58. I've had a machine of my own for six years. My numbers are good. I run about seven hours and my events are down where they're supposed to be, and my doctor has told me twice that my therapy is well controlled, which it is. And for about four years I have been eating lunch in my van. That doesn't sound like anything. Let me explain what it is. For fifteen years I ate lunch with people. That's the actual job. You go in, you do the setup, and a certain kind of person makes you a sandwich and you sit there for twenty minutes and hear about their grandson. I was known for it. My supervisor used to get on me about my route times and I'd tell him the truth, which is that a man who trusts you will actually wear the mask, and a man who doesn't will put it in a closet. Somewhere in there I started eating in the van in the parking lot of the CVS on Route 9 with the seat back. I told myself it was route times. I told my wife it was route times. I've told my supervisor it was route times and he was pleased with me about it. It's that by eleven thirty in the morning I don't have twenty minutes of that in me anymore. I never once called that a symptom of anything. I called it getting older and getting more efficient, and I was a little proud of it. So in July I made the same call Corinne made. Name, dose, form, anything I should know given the blood pressure pill I take. My office called back the next afternoon. No concerns, mention it at the annual. I'm seven months in. I'm not going to hand you a turnaround, because there wasn't one. For the first month I couldn't have told you whether I'd started or not. I'd already watched Corinne sit through that same stretch, so I left it alone. What I've got is smaller. I ate lunch at somebody's table three times last month. One of them was ninety minutes and I had to make up the time on the back half of the route and I did not mind. And I finally threw out the folded copy of Corinne's report last week. It was in my hand and I was standing at the barrel behind the warehouse and I put it back in the door again. I'm going to keep it. Nineteen years of printing that thing and telling people it was good news, and it took a woman asking me to print her a second one so her husband would believe her before I ever wondered what that document actually says about a person. It says nothing about a person. That's what it says. So here's who I think I wrote this for. If you've got the machine, and you're using it, and the download says you're doing it right, and you are exactly as tired as you were before you ever had it. If you've had the sleep study and it came back normal and you walked out of that appointment with nothing. If you've got a tracker on your wrist that tells you every morning that your sleep was good, and you've started arguing with it in your head, and then talking yourself out of the argument because it's got the data and you've just got a feeling. If you've got a list you could recite in order because you've said it a hundred times, and every line on it came back clean. If somebody you live with has started asking you questions about your equipment instead of about you. Or if there's an object in your house — a table, a bench, a garage, a room — that used to be for something and now you just walk past it. There's nothing wrong with that list. I'd have written the same one. It's just that every single thing on it was aimed at the night. And your body doesn't make energy at night. It makes it all day long, as it goes, and there is nothing in you that fills up while you're asleep. Normal bloodwork means the things they checked were normal. A normal sleep study means the things it looks at looked normal. Those are two small sentences that sound like big ones, and the thing that carries the charge down the line inside your cells isn't printed on either of them. Not on Corinne's, not on mine, not on anybody's. Now two things I want to be straight about, because it would be dishonest not to be. If you snore, or somebody has told you that you stop breathing, and you have never had a sleep study — go get one. I mean that more than anything else in here. That is not something to work around and this is not a way around it. The whole reason Corinne's story means anything at all is that she'd already had the study, already had the machine, already had three years of perfect downloads, and had the paperwork to prove every bit of it. And if you're getting five hours because there's a baby, or a second job, or a parent you're up with at night — I'm not talking about you, and a capsule is not going to fix a schedule. That's real and it's different and it deserves a different answer than this one. I'm talking about the people whose night is already accounted for and who still can't get through the afternoon. If you want to do what she did, do it in this order. Call your doctor's office or your pharmacist first. Give them the name, the dose and the form, and ask whether there's any reason not to add it given everything else you take. Tell them everything you take. One call, and most offices come back inside two days. If they say go ahead, it's one capsule a day, with a meal. Not on an empty stomach and not standing at the counter with your coffee on the way out the door. Change nothing else. Do not touch your therapy. Not the hours, not the pressure, not a single night. Whatever you've been prescribed, you keep doing exactly the way it's written, and you put this on top of it. And give it the whole ninety days instead of two months. Two months is how a careful woman spent another year and a half certain she'd already tried the one thing that was pointed at the actual problem, with the box sitting in a cabinet over her own coffee maker. I'm not a doctor and I'm not going to talk like one. I carry machines up front steps. I'm one guy who read thousands of people a good report at their own kitchen table and watched them go quiet, for nineteen years, before I ever asked myself why. https://trysolia.shop/products/coq10-cellular-energy-capsules P.S. Do not stop, reduce, or change anything you've been prescribed on account of something you read on the internet. That includes your CPAP most of all, and it includes thyroid medication, an antidepressant, HRT, any of it. Corinne didn't change one setting. I haven't either, and I'm the one who'd know how. This goes on top of what you're already doing and it doesn't take the place of a single item. P.P.S. The phone call is the step people skip, so once more. You are not asking permission — it's a supplement, not a prescription. You're calling because that office has your full medication list in front of them and you're going off memory. Blood thinners are the main interaction to raise, and if you take a statin, that's a conversation with whoever prescribed it. Corinne's call took four minutes. Mine took eleven because I made the poor woman read me my own chart. P.P.P.S. There's a 90 day money back guarantee, opened or unopened, every penny, no questions. Ninety is the honest number and not a marketing one, and here's why it has to be. Blood levels take two to four weeks just to level off. Most of what the research shows lands between week four and week twelve. Two months tells you very little, and that is the entire lesson of the box over Corinne's coffee maker. Use the whole ninety before you decide anything either way, including deciding against it. Emmett used the whole ninety and decided against it, and that's a real outcome and it's the reason the ninety days is worth anything at all. P.P.P.P.S. One thing I hit while I was deciding what to buy and it cost me an evening. There's a version sold as ubiquinol that runs about double, and the pitch is that it's the pre-converted form so your body gets to skip a step. Here's what I worked out. That conversion is the molecule's actual job. It takes the charge, hands it off, flips back, thousands of times a second — that is the whole of what it does. So you'd be paying double to skip a step your body performs for free, and a body that couldn't perform that step couldn't run the line at all. On top of that, ubiquinol is the less stable of the two. It reacts with air, which is why it needs the special softgel, and a share of it turns back into the cheaper form on the way in regardless. And the decades of research, including that 1989 tissue work, largely ran on ubiquinone. If you already bought the expensive one, you weren't being careless. That pitch is built to sound like the more informed purchase, which is exactly why careful shoppers are the ones who buy it. I had it in the cart. P.P.P.P.P.S. On price, because it's more than the drugstore bottle and I looked into why before I ordered. Start with what's in the capsule. Two hundred milligrams of pharmaceutical grade CoQ10 and nothing else on that label competing with it for room. No blend, no combined total, no fourteenth ingredient taking a cut of what you paid. The rice flour and the capsule are what holds it together — they aren't something you're buying. Now put that next to the cheap bottle, where the real trouble isn't the price, it's that you can't account for it. A proprietary blend prints one number for the whole mixture and doesn't have to tell you how much CoQ10 is in there. So the shelf price is low and the price per milligram is a thing you are not able to calculate. You aren't saving money. You're buying a number you're hoping about. And potency is the one thing on a label a buyer can't check for himself — you cannot look at a capsule and know. Somebody outside the company has to test it, and it has to be every batch that ships, because a batch is what you're actually buying. A certificate from two years ago is a report on somebody else's bottle. That's part of what the price is. The dose arithmetic comes last: the common shelf dose is 100 milligrams, so it takes two of those to reach one of these, which closes most of the gap on its own. The multi bottle came out to under a dollar a day for me. I was buying two twenty-ounce energy drinks out of the cooler at the Shell on Route 9 most afternoons to get through the back half of a route, and they never once fixed it. P.P.P.P.P.P.S. You can only get it from them directly. It isn't on Amazon, and if you find that name on a marketplace it didn't come from them. The reason is worth knowing and I didn't know it either. On those marketplaces, stock from different sellers gets pooled into the same bin at the warehouse. So the bottle that lands on your porch is not necessarily the bottle the company sent out. I keep a spare in the console of the van now, and not for any dramatic reason. I know myself. If I run out for a week I won't start again. P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. I still do Corinne's cushions. Gil was home the last time, on a Thursday, which he usually isn't. He didn't say anything to me about any of this and I don't think he knows there's anything to say. There's a puzzle on that table with about a third of it done and a coffee cup sitting on the box lid. They eat in there now. Nobody in that house has mentioned the year they didn't, and I'm not going to be the one who brings it up. If there's somebody in your house who's been handing you a number instead of an answer — you don't have to be brave about it. I wasn't. I just printed the same piece of paper one too many times and finally read it. Kalén A, Appelkvist EL, Dallner G. Age-related changes in the lipid compositions of rat and human tissues. Lipids. 1989;24(7):579-584.

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