There is no sound produced by machine nor animal that can equate my husband's snoring. The jokes you hear about snoring can only come from:
a) snorers who don't hear what they do, or
b) people who have never tried to sleep with a serious snorer.
I have known people who make forced air sounds when they sleep. They call it snoring. It isn't even close. I have known nothing like this .
For years, I've dealt with the nightly violence next to me by moving to the couch shortly after he falls asleep. Somehow, he can nod off again after his jerking and gasping. I can not.
It was I, ironically, that got put through a sleep study in the course of neuro testing last year. Yes, I was showing effects of sleep deprivation, but I slept just fine in the monitored room all by myself.
It took my buddy Bobby to tell us a few times about the allergist in town who hooked him up with a CPAP machine. Bobby described it as a near religious experience to not wake up exhausted. The doctor was covered under our insurance and so finally... after months of less than subtle hints... the appointment was made.
His sleep study was done at home. I stayed up most for the night, perversely wishing he'd elevate to the regular level of nightly struggle. I hate to admit it, but I was dispointed he had a good night and that the new meds seemed to be helping. I wanted a real solution.
But the test results came back showing the night I observed to be the best in months, was not good. The old standard for treatment was averaging 15 episodes of sleep apnea (blocked respiration) an hour. Research showed the number was far too high and in recent years the clinical standard dropped to five episodes as the bar for treatment. No problem. Charlie delivered 24 an hour on what I thought was a good night.
So the CPAP came home on a test run. It provides continuous positive air pressure though a mask which fits over the face with a professional wrestling type harness and an inch wide flexible tube that runs to the machine.
The first night I couldn't get used to the silence or stillness. He was perfectly immobile on his back and slept. Just slept. Eight years with the man and I had never seen such a thing. I write this late on a Sunday morning. In the old days he would have dragged bleary-eyed through the entire Sunday Times by this hour. Instead he is still sleeping. Really sleeping.
Last night I turned the bedroom television down and eventually off.
It turns out the frogs in our backyard pond make a lot of noise.
And it sounds wonderful.




Copyright 2004 Judi Griggs