It's one thing to get a (not so) gentle nudge around 11:15 PM from my wife, who's encouraging me to roll over onto my side and not sleep on my back due to the inevitable louder-than-normal one-man chorus of snoring. It's quite another to hear the soft click of a hotel door at 1:15 AM, when your buddy decides that the best option is to gather his things and leave the room, leaving behind the echoing growls of a slightly overweight human bear, heavily sedated from an 11-hour slow-to-medium beer consumption pace in Wrigleyville after a day-night double-header, and attempt to get his own room with peace and tranquility at $150-a-night, only to be up & on the road by 5:30 AM.
Gotta tell you. It was an attention-getter.
I wonder how many more HYPHEN-riddled sentences I can jam into this post.
I know I've been an above-average snore producer for quite a while now. I would assume that it's from a combination of genetics (my parents are Steve & Edie of snoring), weight, and getting older. It's been bearable for the past ten years, but there's been more recent signs that things certainly haven't been getting any better. Recently more than once, I've woken up to see that my wife has moved her sleep agenda to the living room couch. I don't think it was the farting.
The trip to Chicago for the Tuesday, June 28th game(s) was brought on from a recent "Extreme Baseball" bus trip that I took with a couple college buddies. Three Major League Baseball games, in three cities, in three days. The last day was to be an afternoon game from one of the rooftop venues outside right field at Wrigley Field for a Cubs game. It got completely rained out before it ever started. The rootop's return policy? When the game is re-scheduled, they would see us then. Conveniently enough for a guy living 8 hours away, it was re-scheduled for a Tuesday afternoon. So me and one of my buddies decided to get back over to Chicago.
Prior to that particular game getting rained out back in May, we had a successful two-day run of games and general fun in the Twin Cities and Milwaukee. I'll spare you the obvious and simply say that beverages were consumed. You don't have to be an ear-nose-throat specialist to assume that the likelihood of snoring can be increased after some alcohol consumption. Far from any dangerous levels, when Sleepytime came after night one, I was bushed. I was told more than three times, I believe, by my two roomies for the weekend, that I really needed to stop snoring before there were real physical consequences. Not that I can do anything about it when it's happening. I'm sleeping. Problem was...they weren't.
Their observations were that they didn't think it was full-on Sleep Apnea, because my breathing would never pause or stop for long periods of time, which is a common (and frightening) symptom of Apnea. So, I chalked it up to me just being a guy who makes a good racket at night, and didn't really think much more about it.
Until this most recent incident.
I texted the now fleeing friend about 10 minutes after he left the room the other night.
"Was the snoring that bad?"
Reply: "Haha. I'm a lite sleeper!"
Yep. Indeed, it was, Dixon. Indeed, it was.
So, now what?
I suppose I should go somewhere for a sleep study. It would be nice to know just how much this nocturnal noise-making is really effecting me, physically. I don't really wake up that well-rested. I was chalking that up to my bed a little. And a baby. I'm not real keen on the idea of wearing the dreaded "Apparatus". I quick perusal of http://www.cpap.com/ brought up some pretty horrendous looking masks, hoses, pumps, and various other accessories for the allready sleep-challeneged. It seems pretty far-fetched at first glance to think that wearing these fighter pilot masks will actually aid in my sleep. They look far too clunky and uncomfortable to be worth the trouble, right?
Well, the good news is that I didn't lose my friend. The bad news (for him) is that him and I are making plans for a 3-night roadtrip for the Pearl Jam 20th Anniversary Concert weekend over Labor Day. Will I have this thing under control by then? Or will I hear the quit Click of Shame as my guttural impression of a '74 Ford pickup drives a friend away.....again....?