The Texas Chainsaw Sleepless Night
Whether you realize it or not, quite a lot of us snore. This is probably some unresolved evolutionary business left over from when our distant ancestors had gills and swam the oceans or something. For Creationists, it’s because God hates you and is punishing you with sleep deprivation torture. For Transcendentalists: if you snore in the woods and nobody can hear you, your wife is still pissed off.
Oddly, I’d never had complaints about my apparent talent at snoring before I’d met Diana. And no, it doesn’t mean that, and I don’t like what you’re thinking. Anyway, the condition has apparently progressed in severity from somewhere in the ‘pretty annoying’ range all the way to ‘structural damage to buildings’ and sometimes edging up into the ‘triggers nuclear fission’ realm. Naturally at that point Di was fed up. To make matters worse, convincing me that I actually snored that badly took some real effort. If you’re already asleep, what are the odds you’re going to be able keep track of yourself and be able to analyze it later when you’re awake? Dixie, our cat, is the only being who seems to not mind me snoring. I suspect that she sees it as really, really loud purring, though.
Now, without getting too personal here, Dad snored like a Harley without a muffler and timing problems. For her own well-being, Mom insisted on and got her own bedroom at the other end of the house. No hidden issues here; that is just the way it worked out. Flash forward to today, Di and I aren’t at all favorable to that plan whatsoever, and that’s good because the Army won’t put you in a house with an extra bedroom on account of someone’s defective sinuses.
After tape-recording me, Di began making headway at convincing me. When people outside our county called to complain, I had to accept the truth. I got evaluated, poked, and prodded. I spent a few nights in a local VA with wires glued to my exceptionally smooth head. Shit was happening and looking great until they attached a CPAP to my ass one night, and after two tortured hours of the equivalent of sleeping in a gas mask, I opted out of that medieval crap and drove myself home at 2 AM.
So the impasse period began. I would alternately be left or sent away to sleep on the sofa depending on the level of sonic disruption and Di’s general mood (always in the ‘foul’ category, but we’re talking fine differences of hue here). I wedged my fat head into positions to ensure side-sleeping (fail: I snore on my side too). I tried sleeping in all imaginable positions including face-down (fail: that one too). I chock-blocked my jaw shut with pillows, tied stuff around my head, even the backward-tee-shirt-with-a-pocket-and-something-taped-in-the-pocket trick. No luck. Apparently, if I can sleep through my own snoring, I can sleep through lying on a hard, edge-having object as well as sleep without oxygen.
In the end I read about a mouthpiece prosthetic that stops snoring. Not wishing to endure another round of experimentation at the hands of Army physicians, it occurred to me after seeing an online photo of one that they looked one hell of a lot like the mouthpiece I used playing high school football. So $5.60 later, I now practice something resembling a reverse dentures routine. The rubbery little sports guard is uncomfortable in just the right way to keep my stupid tongue from flopping down into my lungs or whatever causes my snores.
This solution isn’t 100% effective and I don’t particularly like it, but nights are smoother.