I'm trying to save my marriage

from snoring

I snore. If you feel like unsubscribing from Situation Normal, I understand. My wife threatened to unsubscribe from me. Actually, Christina threatened to sleep in another room. But that was an idle threat. Our house is too small to escape the sound of my snoring. Also, with me in one room and Christina in another, our dog, Mortimer, gets confused. Sleep next to the big guy who feeds him, walks him, and picks up after him, or curl up with the nice lady who sneaks him pieces of string cheese when the big guy isn’t looking?

I’m not sure when my snoring started, but I’ve pinpointed the problem to somewhere between my birth, in 1977, and a few months ago. That was when things got bad for Christina, and by extension, bad for me. I’d wake her up with my snoring, then she’d wake me up by shaking me, or shouting, “honey, you’re snoring again!” A few weeks of that routine, and neither one of us was sleeping.

Since I believe in doing my own research, I asked Google to pull up some SEO-friendly content marketing that masquerades as health advice. Turns out, the internet has a lot of tips to stop snoring.

First, I tried sleeping on my side, but then I remembered that I already sleep on my side. I crossed that tip off the list. I also nixed cutting back on booze because I don’t drink.

“I’m willing to quit smoking,” I told Christina, “but first I’ll have to start smoking. Can I bum a cigarette?”

Instead of cigarettes, Christina bought me breathing strips that attach to your nose. They didn’t work, but I did feel like a pro football player, which was cool.

Next, I tried increasing my hydration. What a disaster. I kept snoring, only now I also had to get up to pee throughout the night.

On Reddit, I found a community of snorers. One solution that received a lot of up-votes was to wear a neck brace. The idea behind the neck brace was that it would keep your throat open and your airway clear. That sounded right, but when I put it on, Christina laughed at me.

“You look ridiculous, babe.”

“Who cares how I look? The lights are out, and your eyes are closed.”

Unfortunately, the neck brace was a bust. It didn’t stop my snoring, but it probably was the cause of that night’s dream, where a medical supply salesman tried to strangle me. Also, it was hot as fuck wearing that neck brace.

“I’m calling my doctor,” I said. “There’s got to be something she can do.”

When I saw my doctor, she asked when I started snoring.

“I’m not sure. Somewhere between birth and a few months ago.”

I thought that was a funny line—so funny I used it twice in this post—but my doctor wasn’t amused. I could’ve asked for a second opinion on the joke, but since laughter is the best medicine and she is a medical expert, we agreed to disagree.

“Why are you coming to see me now?” she asked. “Has something changed?”

“Yeah, my snoring is driving my wife nuts. I don’t think she’ll divorce me over it, but my marriage philosophy is don’t fuck around because you don’t wanna find out.”

My doctor said that was “prudent.” Then she ordered a sleep test.

As it turns out, you don’t have to go to a sleep lab anymore. They send you a test in the mail, but first they call to make sure you’re not an idiot.

“The test is a sensor that goes on your finger while you sleep,” the guy from my doctor’s office said. “There’s also an app. Do you know how to download an app?”

“Yes, I got the hang of it during Obama’s first term.”

A few days later, my sleep apnea test arrived, along with a three-page pamphlet that explained how to download an app, as well as a five-page pamphlet that explained how to put the sensor on your finger.

I read all eight pages, and I’m glad I did. Buried in the fine print, I learned that I’d have to shave my chest to attach the other end of the sensor. The guy who called to ask if I knew how to download an app probably should’ve mentioned that.

After shaving my chest—a thrilling experience I rate right up there with colonoscopy prep—I hooked up the sensors, fired up the app, and went to bed.

The next morning, Christina asked me it went.

“I’m pretty sure the data is going to tell them that it’s really hard sleeping with your finger stuck in a sensor, another sensor taped to your chest, and a bunch of wires connecting all this shit.”

“Well, what happens now?”

“The instructions say I’m supposed to throw out the sensors. It doesn’t explain how to use a garbage can, but I’m gonna wing it.”

“I mean, when do we get the results?”

“They’ll call me in about a week.”

A week later, a nurse called me. She confirmed that I snore, which was helpful because there was the outside chance that my wife, who has a wicked sense of humor, was gaslighting me.

“You have mild sleep apnea,” she said. “The gold-standard for treatment used to be the CPAP machine, but now we use something called the APAP, which works even better and people find it a lot less annoying.”

“So there’s a new gold-standard?”

“Yes.”

“Is there a silver-standard, or a bronze-standard?”

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry, we’ve been watching the Olympics, so I can’t think about gold without thinking about silver and bronze.”

“Would you like to try the APAP machine, sir? I checked your coverage, and it looks like you’re fully covered. No copay.”

“Finally, some good news. Tell me, is there an app with this machine?”

“No.”

“Will I have to shave my chest?”

“No.”

“Is there anything else you’re not telling me? Something weird that I’ll discover in the fine print?”

“No, it just helps you breathe.”

“It does more than that.”

“Correct.”

She rattled off some of the benefits of addressing sleep apnea. Increased energy. Reduced risk of heart attacks and strokes. Improved cognition.

“That’s great,” I said. “And I realize those are important goals. But I’m just trying to save my marriage here, so please rush that shipment.”

Fund a Situation Normal Adventure!

I’m within striking distance of getting my Substack best-seller badge back, but I need a few more paid subscribers. My original plan was extortion, but my lawyer told me that was illegal and “really dumb.”

My new plan is to do some serious journalism. There’s a place in LA called Courage Bagels. The New York Times wrote about them because people spend an hour, or more, in line for these bagels.

Are they really that good?

What sort of weirdos wait that long for a bagel?

What kinds of shenanigans happen while these weirdos wait?

I need to know! You need to know! We all need to know.

Here’s the deal. As soon as I get that bestseller badge, I’m putting on my reporter’s hat, slathering on some sunscreen, and going to Courage Bagels, and I won’t come back without a story.

Stick around and chat?

1. Do you snore? If so, how are things going in the relationship department?

2. Does your partner snore? If so, are you thinking of leaving them?

3. 🥯

4. Do you know how to download an app? Wrong answers only.

5. If laughter is the best medicine, why don’t comedy clubs take my insurance?