We’ve all seen it before.
That dude on the subway. Or the lady in the waiting room. Or your latest lover.
The lot of them, snoring away to beat the band.
(Which you wish was a real thing, playing full blast, versus a mere figure of speech – so it could drown them out.)
Sure, we all have a laugh and figure it’s a Youtube worthy moment. But then, within a few moments, you realize this isn’t your average snoring. Suddenly they start bucking like a bull and gagging like soon-to-be pork having its trachea lacerated. For a moment, their breathiing stops. You look nervously around, unsure of how to handle this. (And maybe even press pause, put your phone down, and quit recording the comical episode – ya know – just in case this is someone’s imminent death you’re capturing.) But, inevitably, they wake themselves up mid suffocation – glancing around in panic with all the clarity of someone departing a stoner coma.
This is Obstructive Sleep Apnea.
(AKA: OSA)
See, the difference between typical snoring and sleep apnea (though the two often get confused with one another), is that bit described above just now. While snoring’s indeed a nuisance (more so to whoever’s in hearing range of your nasal cacophony than you), OSA’s inconvenient on a whole ‘nother level. Whether it’s caused by a deviated septum, postural positioning, or even obesity – folks with this disorder don’t simply snooze through the night while decimating their neighbors’ sleeps. They wake themselves up. Mostly ’cause they can’t breathe. Ya know – that thing we need to stay alive. The symptoms of it are what you might expect: episodes of funky respiration (or none at all), too much slumbering when the sun’s out, insomnia, bad dreams, sleep deprivation, and – of course – snoring. Then, outside of sleep time, sufferers might deal with the sad sads, grumpiness, teeth grinding, and even uncooperative copulatory organs when it’s time to get bzzy. (Assuming your partner’s not too pissed at you about keeping her up all night to feel amorous).
“Wake up, honey. You have to finish your will *before* asphyxiating yourself on your own oral organs.”
I asked a friend with OSA recently about it. He says that, without using his CPAP mask, he’ll wake up 3 to 4 times a night. And why was my well postured, far-from-obese pal afflicted with it? “Nine times outta ten, the tongue falls back in the throat and obstructs the airway,” he explained to me. Scary. When I considered all this stuff, I realized two things 1.) That must suck for whoever’s going through it even more than whoever has to listen (’cause they have to deal with the physiological side effects) and 2.) I should probably get a sleep study stat, seeing as I exhibit a lotta the symptoms I’m seeing.
So, what can you do if you think you’ve got OSA? Like hypochondriac me?
Well, there’s a host of fixes (in addition to the CPAP) you can try to respire better during sleeptime:
Mandibular advancement device (MAD): This looks like a mouth guard that athletes wear. It snaps over your top and bottom teeth. Hinges let your lower jaw ease forward, which keeps your tongue and soft palate stable so your airway stays open while you’re asleep.
Tongue retaining device: This is sort of like a splint that holds your tongue in place to keep your airway open. Doctors don’t prescribe it as often as the MAD. It can be harder to get used to and less comfortable.
Position pillows: Do a quick online search, and you’ll find many types of pillows to help relieve sleep apnea, designed for use with a CPAP machine or without. They come in different styles, including a wedge shape, which aims to raise your upper body.
Tennis balls: Sleeping on your side may improve your symptoms. To keep you off your back, some doctors suggest pinning a tube sock filled with a few tennis balls to the back of your nightshirt.
CPAP: That stands for continuous positive airway pressure. These machines use a mask that fits over your nose or nose and mouth. It blows air at a pressure that keeps your airway open during sleep. Your doctor can tell you the right pressure to use and how to set it on the machine.
So, there we have it. A good comprehensive list – from an ornate mask to a sock full’a balls.
But before we start self-diagnosing, mayhaps we should get a profesh sleep study done, first.
(And ask your trainmate flatulating through his face to nab a Bane mask for himself. And bring it next commute.)