My hubby snores – a lot and loudly. If he goes to sleep first, I’m doomed. I hit him and ask him to roll over and offer a Breathe Right strip, etc. It usually doesn’t work. I just need to be really exhausted and since I work night shift, no problem. I’m either asleep at different times or so dead dog tired I don’t really care. He says that over the years I’ve started snoring, too and that it’s almost as bad as his. Since I can’t hear myself snore, I’m choosing to deny or disregard that, whichever I wish. That’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it. He hasn’t been sleeping well these past few nights and for us that can lead to a real concern. We try to get on top of it and so he’s been taking something to go to sleep. He can take up to two of those and after a few nights of it not really working, he took 2 last night.
We had both boys in bed with us, which usually bothers him tremendously. They snuggle up with me and kick him. I, of course, have no issues with it. In the best interest of his sleep; however, I decided to move the boys after they were good and out. After I moved them, I noticed that Steve was really deep asleep. In fact, he hadn’t even moved in quite some time. He wasn’t even snoring. Now, keeping in mind it is about 3am, I had a moment of panic. I can’t hear him snoring, come to think of it, I can’t even hear him breathing! Then, the nurse starts surfacing in me. He took two of those pills, he could have depressed his respiratory drive – oh my God, what if he isn’t breathing? I practice the steps of CPR in my head, preparing to open that airway just in case…This is a delicate balance. If he’s really just soundly asleep, I don’t want to wake him. But if he’s dying, that, of course, is another story. He’s lying on his stomach, face down in the pillow. Maybe if I could just turn his head to the side, he could breathe better. I edge toward him, quietly, but steadily. I’m listening closely for respirations, so then I can be reassured and leave him be to keep sleeping. I’m close enough now to put my hand gently on his back and try to feel for chest rise. Just as I’m laying my hand upon him, I hear a loud whooooosh of air. Unfortunately, it didn’t come from his lungs – it was the other end. And there he is, bottom up, with the most ground-breaking release of gas I’ve experienced in quite awhile (keeping in mind that I still change diapers). It was the kind I could actually hear the rumble of the air and then I had to wait in fear of it spreading. And spread it did. Our ceiling fan was on! He was outside the covers, so fortunately I could seek relief under the covers. I gathered my senses and took in a breath of cleaner air. Having lived through this challenge, I realized that my mission was, in fact, courageously complete.
Dead men don’t fart. Goodnight dear.
