Illustration: Scott Drummond
I'll Admit It. I Snore!!
By Elizabeth Marvel, Jayplay writer
I'm jolted awake and I don't really know why. It's dark in the room, except for the glowing red LCD alarm clock that reads 4:36. I faintly remember a jab or two in the side, the same jab or two (or three), that I get every night to encourage me to roll onto my side.
I hate to admit it, but I snore. And not just cute little snores. Loud snores, so loud they even wake me up. I used to tell myself that I just breathed loudly while sleeping. But from what my boyfriend Ian tells me, I'm really noisy, not to mention annoying.
My family has a history of snoring. My dad snores. Both of my grandfathers snore, loudly. They also grunt and sniffle and wheeze. Once when I was visiting my relatives in Tennessee, and playing a nighttime game of hide-and-seek with my sister, we heard a noise like a freight train echo through the downstairs, shaking the walls. It had come from our grandfather's room, and it was his snore.
My grandparents solved the snoring problem by sleeping in separate rooms, but I didn't want this for my relationship. I realize how much lan has to put up with at night, and I'm happy he thinks I'm worth it, even with my eardrum-shaking snores.
Until lan, no one made a big deal out of my snoring, not even my best friends who spent the night at my house regularly. But now, I'm constantly reminded of my inability to breathe through my nose because Ian and I share the same bed every night.
"God is punishing me," he says with a laugh. He describes my snoring as a never-ending cycle. I start with a snort, which progresses to heavy breathing to all-out snoring. At first, he tries to ignore it, but eventually he can't take it, so he pokes me. Then he shakes me a little. Once, I even woke up with a hand over my mouth, in hopes that it would stop the incessant noise. Half-awake, I hear him curse: "Goddamn it. Shit." Then he sighs with annoyance. Once I'm fully awake, he tries to go back to sleep as
fast as he can. But just when he drifts off, I let out a snort and the cycle starts all over again. I'm back to sleeping with my mouth gaping, the air rasping against my vocal cords. I'm sure the best part of his night is when I get up in the morning.
It's not that I haven't tried to solve my problem. I've tried just about everything besides surgery. I tried the throat spray that is supposed to keep the vocal chords tight. I've slept in every position possible. I've used Breathe Right strips. Nothing really seems to work. Though the Breathe Right strips have been the most successful, the only thing I really like about them is the spark they emit when pulled from their paper sheathing. And I guess I breathe loudly instead of snore when I wear them, which is a minor improvement.
One day in November, after months of Ian putting up with my snoring, I suggested we stop sleeping together. I didn't think he'd take the suggestion seriously, but he did. In fact, he supported the idea passionately. Being an emotional person, I threw a fit, but I relented. After not sleeping alone for months, it was strange to be in bed without a warm body next to me. When I had to go home from Ian's to an empty bed, I'd cry and then I'd go home and cry more into my pillow. It was pathetic. Eventually, I got over it, and almost (yes, almost) embraced sleeping by myself again.
After what seemed like a long time (In fact, it was only a month) of sleeping apart, lan agreed to let me sleep with him again and I couldn't have been happier. Now, I put on a nose strip before I go to sleep, and I sleep on my side. I get prodded occasionally, but not as much as before. I'll even move to the couch when necessary, but I've only had to do that once since December. I'd say there's been quite an improvement.
— Elizabeth Marvel can be reached at emarvel@kansan.com.
4.22.04 Jayplay
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