Sleep apnea. That's the diagnosis for Jerry. And not just sleep apnea, but SEVERE sleep apnea. When his doctor mentioned that he'd seen the results of the test, his words were, "Wow, scary results." Scary? What does that mean?
Me: "What does that mean, doctor?"
Doctor: "Well, your husband stops breathing approximately 51 times per hour."
Me: "51? Yikes, now I feel a little bad for complaining about his snoring."
Doctor: "That's not snoring, it's gasping for oxygen."
Me: "Okay, I'm feeling a little worse, now. I guess I'll have to stop smacking him in the arm and screeching, 'ROLL OVER!'"
Doctor: "What kind of wife are you? The man is struggling to stay alive all night, and you're smacking him in the arm?!"
Me: "Ummm, I'm the kind of wife who NEEDS SOME SLEEP. Do you have any idea what it's like, sleeping next to someone who snores no matter if he's on his back, his side, or his stomach? It's torture, I tell you--torture! In fact, I think I deserve some credit for surviving 11 years of this. Yeah, he should be thanking me! How many wives do you know of who would put up with that? And technically, I think I should get credit for keeping him alive for the last 11 years--if not for me, he could have died in his sleep from a heart attack or stroke. And this is the thanks I get?? "
Jerry: "I've OFFERED to go to the couch."
Me: "Sure, like that would even help. You remember Idaho, don't you?"
Idaho:
Several years ago, our kids spent the summer with Jerry's mom and step dad in Montana. The plan for child retrieval was simple. Meet in Coeur d'Alene, which was about halfway between our place and Belgrade, MT. We'd spend the weekend at a KOA campground in a "Deluxe Kamping Kabin", which is about as much as I'm ever willing to rough it, and have some quality family time to close out the summer.
We all converged on the KOA. It will likely never be the same. Our "Deluxe Kamping Kabin" consisted of a two-room log cabin--two sets of bunk beds and a double bed in the back room, and a double bed in the front room. Our niece, who is a month younger than the oldest boy, accompanied her cousins for the trip.
At bedtime, the three kids, Jerry, and I took the back room. Jerry's parents took the front room.
Soon, the snoring started. Jerry was in fine form that night. The stillness of the midnight campground amplified the sounds of snoring, causing the sound to reverberate throughout the little Kabin. As a seasoned veteran of the ear-splitting sounds, I clamped my pillow around my ears and tried to relax.
Then, an unfamiliar sound joined the cacophony of Jerry's snores. Duke, Jerry's step dad, is ALSO a snorer. It was as if the two of them, and their stuffed up nasal passages, had channeled all of the sound in the world, and were blowing it out their nostrils (I love that word--nostrils--it sounds funny. Kind of like "pudding" and "trousers". The more times you say them, the funnier they are...).
I had been prepared to combat the dulcet tones of Jerry's snoring, but when Duke's were added, it was if the decibel level increased exponentially. I had no defense for it. I squeezed my eyes tight, prayed that the kids would stay asleep, and practiced every relaxation exercise I knew.
Just as I was finally dropping off to sleep, I heard two sharp sounds--first, the slamming of the Kabin door, and then, the slamming of a car door. I didn't know what was going on, and at that point, I didn't even care. I needed some sleep.
The next morning, Jerry's mom looked exhausted. She glared at Jerry and Duke all morning, until one of them finally noticed and asked her what was wrong. "You two were so loud, I had to sleep in the car! You probably kept the entire campground up all night!" The car--why didn't I think of that? I could have slept like a baby in the quiet cocoon of the minivan.....
Obviously, Jerry's doctor has never lived with a snorer, or he'd understand that I do, in fact, deserve a medal.
No comments:
Post a Comment