To sleep, perchance to dream— if only
Snoring disturbing the peace of marriage bed
Igot divorced last week. It wasa fairly easy decision in the end.
The idea had definitely crossedmymind before, but it wasn’t until Hilary and Jeremy started talking it upon TV, that I finally made up my mind. It’d been a long time coming and, whenconfronted with the possibilities, it cameas a revelation— and I have to say, it’s changedmylife.
The main problem has been the snoring. There’s only somuch you can take. I’ve got to givehim his dues, it’s not likehe didn’t try. Firstupwas the apparatus which clamped onto the jaw. Unattractive and mildly painful. Plus it didn’t work. Then therewas the nasal (or wasit throat?) spray. Hegave that a good go too— emptied the bottle— itdidn’t work either. It looked at one point like there had been amiraculous cure. Heread a book about breathing “properly”, i.e. through your nose. In order to train oneself to do so and rid oneself of one’s bad mouth-breathing habits, one must tape the mouth. So he bought a roll of the stuff, placed it firmly across his tightly closed lips and lay back to enjoy adeep sleep.
Again very unattractive but therewasa glimmer of hope— it appeared to work. Not a sound. (Don’t hold your breath, I thought. Nowthere’s anidea.)
I’m not sure if there’s such a thing as a mouthtape placebo, but hey presto, the peacewas over in a flash. After that snorefreenight’s slumber, I had been excited to go to bed the following night. But not long afterhis tape wasin place and his head hit the pillow (before Ihithimwith the pillow), it began. There appears to be a variety of styles, all of which fall into the ruin-my-sleep category. There’s the loud staccato type snort. Not coming at predictable intervals, but just as I begin to drift off, the long awaited bliss is cruelly piercedwith a sharp jab. The hedgehog-esque snuffle isn’t a lot better. Although morerhythmic, it still manages to penetrate the earplugs with nasty little nasal songs and anever-ending chorus. Noless distressing is the puff, pop, blow trilogy. It sounds as if he’s about to say something starting with “P”. I can think of a few choice words myself. Thenthere’s the chainsaw, an off the radar, high intensity, teeth-shattering racket, which I’d say probably takes the cake. There’s no escape.
However, there did appear a small ray of hope on the horizon, and I’m not concedingmuchhere, whenit appeared therewas an advantage to the tape. It seems there’s a longer-lasting response to a sharp, swift kick. Could I possibly sneak in just a smidgen of nonREM — anything will do— before the silence is so rudely broken. Not likely. By now, of course, Iamclose to smothering mode. So tempting. Just a small smother surely wouldn’t hurt too much. But with clenched fists and gritted teeth, I have held back. I stumble out of bed, bleary-eyed, grabmypillow, book, glasses, earplugs, socks— by nowcompletely wide-eyed— and in order to maintainmysanity, retreat to the spare roomfor a long overdue sleep divorce. If this is what it takes to get a good night’s sleep, I’m signing on the dotted line.