Hayter article for September 4, 2022
God’s gift to
snorers
I owe my Grandpa Teegarden an apology. Actually two apologies. One for my failure to remember if “Teegarden” starts with “Tea” or “Tee”. I just asked Kay, and she said, “I’m thinking ‘Tee’ because that’s how it’s spelled on his tombstone. Kay’s into ancestry.com. I’m more into Netflix.com.
But forget that. What I need to apologize to Grandpa about is how much we used to laugh when we heard him snore. At some point, grandmother would say, “Oliver, turn over. You’re snoring.”
During our visits to the Paradise known as Bristow, Oklahoma, all of the Hayter kids slept atop blankets on the living room floor. We heard the sound of Grandpa snoring and the sound of Indian drums somewhere down the way. The drum sound was actually made by one of those crude oil pump-jacks. I learned what they were called just a few seconds ago. “Pump-jacks”. I don’t recall ever hearing any Okies or anyone else calling ‘em that.
But, let’s get back to the snoring issue. I thought snoring was just an old person’s problem. I never considered that I’d ever be the age of Grandpa, so I would miss the snoring phase of life completely. What kid ever thinks of being an old snorer?
Kay was the first to catch the snores. One night I woke her and said, “Darling you’re snoring. One of us needs to go sleep on the couch.” She said, “Don’t forget your pillow.”
To save our marriage Kay went to a sleep doctor who sent her to a sleep clinic where they hooked 87 wires, to her chest, legs, joints, hair follicles, and ears. I happen to know because it was two years later when she told me about my snoring. I had to go to the same sleep clinic that she did. That’s when I learned that I couldn’t sleep in a sleep clinic.
Twice that night I needed to go to the restroom. The lady helped me out of bed, grabbed a giant wad of wires that were stuck to me, and followed me to the bathroom. Then she stood in the doorway holding all of that stuff as I tried to relieve myself. The reason I had to go twice was that I was unable to go the first time. You would think that a nurse would understand how men have urination issues. The second time, she managed to pull the door halfway shut. I told her to turn the radio up loud, but she thought I was joking.
Kay mastered her sleeping machine quicker than I did. It’s called a CPAP. Its stands for something that I don’t care to look up. It comes with a mask like the one Chuck Yeager wore when he broke the sound barrier. A wide tube runs from the nose of the Yeager mask into a machine that shoves air inside the mask and up your nose. Both Kay and I are now full-fledged CPAP users. I cannot sleep without mine.
The machine has improved significantly over the years. Instead of a supersonic mask, I’ve now got two see-through cushions called “pillows” that are strapped to my nostrils. Pillows? The old mask covered an area all around your nose, allowing it to leak in several areas. With the pillows, it’s just my nostrils that leak. Each of our machines is monitored by somebody from somewhere in the Woodlands. Or, Tampa. I don’t know.
I grew tired of the sleep-lady calling to tell me that I was leaking. Air. I’ve already had three sleep clinic experiences and neither the clinic personnel nor I care to experience a fourth. The important thing to note is that I can sleep without waking Kay.
The CPAP does have a couple of bad features. I have to wear a chinstrap to keep from breathing through my mouth. Snoring exits your mouth not your nose. With the CPAP when the air enters my nose my mouth would open, letting it exit with a snoring sound.
The other problem has to do with the chinstrap leaving creases on my face. When I go to church Sunday mornings, my face screams, “CPAP user!” Jim Jackson or John Meredith will ask, “Hey, Mark how’d you sleep last night?” Most people just point and whisper. Somewhere in Leviticus, it reads, “…nor shall thou make fun of one’s sleep tendencies.” No need to check it out.
I’ve looked on Google for new inventions that keep you from snoring. There are a lot of ‘em. One is a wristband with a rather large disk attached Somehow the disk can tell when you snore. I didn’t know that one’s wrist could give away such a secret. When your wrist detects a snore, the disk automatically sends an electrical jolt up your arm that not only causes you to scream and change positions in bed. Ingenius!
Another device has plastic rings that stick up each nostril. The wider the nostril the more air it can handle. Some of the reviewers found out that nostril insertions started hurting just about the time they were about to fall asleep. Oh, and there is the small strip of tape that you stick across the top of your nose. The brand name should be “Laughables”.
Anyway, I say all of that, to say this. “Grandpa Teegarden, Elsie’s boy, Mark, is very sorry that he used to laugh at you for snoring. Dennis laughed more than I did, but I played a part. -- Oh, and while I’ve got your attention, did y’all call those oil pumper things “Pump-jacks”? No worries, Grandpa. I’ll ask you when I see you.
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