Emotional Diabetes

I’ve been told all my life that I make noises when I sleep. My mom said that as a newborn, I was kept in the hospital longer because I made a sound when sleeping. She said it was like a deep sigh. Who knows, maybe I was born already weary of the world. Later, I went to an ENT specialist because I have chronic issues breathing through my nose. He said my right nostril is small. What can you do? It’s the way I’ve been made.

When I was married, decades ago, my husband would shake me awake because my snoring interfered with his good night’s sleep. So I sacrificed sleep so he could get his. Obviously, that’s no solution. I’ve been alone for decades now, and none of my pets have complained about the noises I make at night.

Two weeks ago, everything changed. I moved into a rental suite owned by Sandy. (Yes, we have the same first name.) She told me early on that I snore, but tried to be kind, saying it was not a problem. But I knew it was. I strive to be considerate, and the last thing I want to do is disturb anyone else’s sleep. She assured me that earplugs were helping.

I needed an outside source to give a sense of the problem, so I turned to tech. There are snoring apps online. I downloaded one the other night and let it record my night’s sleep. The results were…epic. That’s how the app described the loudness and duration of my night noises. Now, in the past, this situation would have pitched me into a huge depression. The thought of something happening while I sleep, something I can’t change, is frustrating. But there’s no sense beating myself up for something outside of my control.

I learned from mediation training how to turn an emotional issue into something neutral, then work on a solution. The issue wasn’t the fact I snore, it was the house’s lack of soundproofing. Yesterday, I went to Home Depot and bought two sheets of rigid acoustic foam. My suite has a door leading to a hall near Sandy’s bedroom. This doorway isn’t needed. I have another door and a window required for escape in case of fire. Sandy and I cut the foam so it wedged up against the popcorn ceiling and the hardwood floor. I sandwiched a blanket between the door and the foam on the floor. Then I hung a curtain from a tension rod as another sound barrier.

We could still hear my TV through the walls, but I’ve been using headphones, which reduces the TV noise to zero. The real test would come from last night’s sleep. This morning, Sandy declared the soundproofing a resounding success. I can’t hear her, and more importantly, she can’t hear me.

Another benefit from the move — I’ve been sleeping well, and my overall glucose levels have improved. I got a note on my phone this morning that over the last 15 days, my daily insulin usage has dropped from 67 units to 47 units. It means insulin resistance has been significantly reduced.

That’s huge.

There’s a social element that’s helping me to settle. Sandy and I each appreciate our time alone, but are increasingly enjoying an occasional dinner together. As much as I’ve convinced myself that solitude is a good insulation against social upsets, I’m starting to realize that my body benefits from interaction.

Insulation may be good for soundproofing, but it’s an unnecessary barrier in social circles.