Last night, I had a nose whistle and couldn’t get to sleep.
You know the ones — the sound of a thousand tiny trumpets emanating from your nostrils every time you inhale — the auditory equivalent of having a kazoo stuck up your schnoz.
Why do we get nose-whistles? Are they a sign of a serious medical condition or just a case of booger overload?
The truth is, nose-whistles can be caused by a variety of things, from allergies and colds to nasal deformities and even excessive nose-picking (don't judge, we've all been there). In any case, you just know you’ll never fall asleep ’til you can silence the little sucker.
I tried everything. First, I snorted in, trying to suck it back up so I could breathe clearly. Didn’t work. In fact, it got louder. Then I snorted out. That was something of a disaster, so I had to get up and root around in the dark, looking for a package of tissues, so I could blow my nose properly. And wipe off the dog.
Eventually, I stumbled my way to the bathroom and tore off a piece of toilet paper. I blew my nose and wonder of wonders; the whistle was gone!
On the way back to bed, I stubbed my toe, which naturally brought tears to my eyes. My nose got all stuffed up and, oh look who’s back. The nose whistle!
I tried pinching my nose, but that didn’t work, just made it more stuffy, so then I tried lying on my side — sometimes the nostril on top will clear if I do that. It didn’t. I tried the other side. That worked, but the nose whistle was on the first side. It got louder.
Sometimes, when you have a nose-whistle, it’s because there’s — um — “matter” in the nostril, so blowing your nose, or heaven forbid, picking your nose can help. Nothing wrong with a little snot-mining when there’s no-one around to see you, right?
Tried that. Didn’t work.
As a method of last resort, I keep a spray bottle of Otrivin next to my bed, since I often have trouble with clogged nostrils when I sleep. I think it’s allergies — my dog sleeps with me. No, let’s be honest. He sleeps ON me. And when it’s shedding season, I can’t breathe when I sleep. I become a literal mouth-breather. Which is why I also keep a sippy-bottle of water next to the bed. If I knock it over in the night, it doesn’t drown me. Hey, it works for kids!
But if I use the nasal spray, this opens up all kinds of amazing new possibilities.
Possibilities like breathing.
A good night’s sleep.
Addiction, or at least, dependence on the spray.
Hence, last resort.
One more thing I could try is those weird nasal strips that were so popular a few years back. You stick them on your nose and they pull the nostrils open, allowing more air to enter. I know there’s a partial box of them around. Somewhere. Haven’t seen ‘em in ages.
I lie there in the dark, thinking about it for a bit and whistling. Is it really worth getting up? For a stupid nose-whistle?
Yep. The bedside light goes on. It’s now become a major life goal to best this pesky nose-whistle and get back to sleep.
I dig around in the clutter on my bedside table, but the box is not there. Back I go to the bathroom, where I find it buried under a couple of boxes tampons I haven’t needed for nearly thirty years. Maybe it’s time to declutter the bathroom — this is the same thought I have every time I go there in the middle of the night. Every night. You’d think I’d learn!
Box in hand, I remove one of the little nasal strips and apply it to my nose. It promptly comes off.
Oh, right! You have to wash the oils off your face before you use these things. The first one goes into the trash, where the dog will undoubtedly find and eat it.
Face washed, I now apply a second strip, which sticks nicely. Yay!
Back to bed. Nose whistle’s quiet now and, light still burning, I doze off, only to dream of a herd of evil butterflies squealing and clutching at my face. The nasal strip has come loose on one side and is fluttering against my cheek with my breathing. The nose whistle’s back. The dog’s licking my face to stop my whimpering.
Is it time to cave in and use the nasal spray? Maybe sitting upright for a while will help. I turn off the light and turn on the TV. The only things on at this time of night are Friends replays and the shopping channel.
Well, whaddya know? Sitting up does help! The whistle can’t compete with the super sales staff on TSC.
By now, the dog’s headed off to the living room. He’s given up trying to sleep with me, and my sinuses are at last beginning to clear.
Finally, I start to drift off, the TV’s talking heads muttering a monotonous backdrop to my silent breathing.
My eyelids are drooping.
But first, I need to pee.
