At 63 I was so ashamed of snoring in front of my new boyfriend I forced myself to stay awake all night – now I've discovered this miracle cure I'm looking forward to finally sleeping soundly
I attach my lightweight anti-snoring device and switch on the gentle electrical pulse. It feels like hundreds of tiny angels’ feet are dancing under my chin – a strange tingling sensation but not unpleasant.
I lie back in bed and as I start to fall asleep, I can feel my tongue loll back in my throat – hello, shameful snoring.
But the device is one step ahead of me. As I snort gently, the pulsing under my jaw increases, stimulating a muscle to bring my tongue forward slightly so my throat muscles don’t simply collapse.
Throughout the night, it vibrates softly if I lapse into snoring – six seconds on, followed by four seconds off. My very own snooze watchdog.
The Zeus Sleep anti-snoring device is quite different from anything I’ve tried before. And, dear reader, I’ve tried a lot of snoring ‘cures’.
Special curved pillows (which keep the head extended and open up nasal airway passages), nasal dilators, a tennis ball taped to the back of a T-shirt, mouth taping (couldn’t get on with that one), humidifiers and dehumidifiers, open windows in winter… you name it. I’ve consulted sleep scientists and coaches, even had a lesson with a sleep guru who had me humming like a bee (to relax the mind and nervous system).
Full disclosure: I’m a 63-year-old woman who vibrates in her sleep. A classic mouth breather (I can never understand how you inhale and exhale through your nose), I’m tired of being embarrassed.
But admitting you are a woman who snores goes to the very heart of our feminine mystique. It’s considered ‘unladylike’. Men snore, of course.
They laugh it off, make embarrassed jokes and are sometimes banished to the spare room by long-suffering wives and partners. But no one thinks they’re unsexy because of a little grunting.
I’m a 63-year-old woman who vibrates in her sleep. A classic mouth breather (I can never understand how you inhale and exhale through your nose), I’m tired of being embarrassed
For women, it’s a more painful admission. The image of the female snorer is a cartoon woman, late in years, who has piled on the pounds. No one wants to be her – wheezy, sleep-deprived and a menace to anyone she shares a room with.
Last year after a break-up I spent the summer on weekend breaks with friends. To save money we shared rooms, just like we had in our 20s. But there was no point in being coy.
When my friend started to pour the red wine with dinner, I felt honour-bound to mention it would have an impact on our sleep. To my horror – and she did not mean to be rude – I found her recording my snoring level at 2am. When she jokingly suggested posting the clip online, I burst into tears.
Today, 18 months after my romantic split, I have a new partner. We’ve had some grown-up talks already – about sex and sleep and mad work hours (mine) and adult children (his) – and we’ve even mentioned the snoring topic. ‘Just roll me over if it gets too irritating,’ I say faux-cheerfully.
But somehow as a woman I feel ashamed that my snoring is worse than my partner’s. I wait until he’s dozing before I dare relax. I daren’t ever lie on my back (which allows gravity to pull the tongue and soft palate backwards).
Once, when I forgot to pack my clear plastic nasal dilator for an overnight stay at his, I forced myself to stay awake all night.
I’m not alone, of course. Four in every ten people in the UK snore.
In fact I’m one of the luckier ones: I don’t snore because I have obstructive sleep apnoea (OSA), which is tied to an increased risk of high blood pressure, heart disease, stroke and diabetes. I just snore when I’ve had a drink or the room is stuffy. But the shame persists.
So when my editor mentioned trying out the new Zeus Sleep, a discreet lightweight chin strap which has had 15 years’ development with top sleep doctors, I was in.
It’s not cheap at £250. But snorers are used to shelling out to protect their loved ones. A box of nasal dilators costs £20 for three; my last pillow was £70, so it soon adds up.
Snoring is caused by a narrowing of the upper airway, when muscles that support our tongue and throat relax in sleep. The Zeus Sleep targets the hypoglossal nerve – which is involved in controlling tongue movements – through electrical pulses to stimulate muscles under the chin to re-open the airway.
The hope is that over time users can train the muscles around their throat so they don’t collapse as easily. And while no one is promising a face lift, it’s claimed the device can also maintain muscle tone in the neck and chin area (hurrah).
But, oh dear, when the chin strap arrives, there’s no denying it’s clunky, certainly compared with my clear Mute nasal dilator, which I simply hide under my pillow, then discreetly stick up my nostrils. In contrast the Zeus is a very visible piece of kit.
Not quite as bad as the muzzle worn by Hannibal Lecter in Silence of the Lambs, but certainly more complex to attach than a nasal device.
I immediately know I can’t face wearing it in front of an Impressionable New Partner! Maybe it’s easier for men than women, but in the interests of science I resolve to try it out on solo nights chez Hoggard.
It is, however, relatively easy to operate. It consists of a device (which you charge for four hours before use) and a set of double-sided, sticky, medical-grade Hydrogel pads, which make contact with your skin.
When the device flashes blue, you remove it from the charging dock, pull away the yellow stickers protecting the pad, and attach the pad to the smooth side of the device.
Then very carefully, looking at your reflection in the mirror, you stick it so it rests on the muscle under the jaw, making sure both wing-shaped electrodes have full contact with your skin.
There’s no denying the chin-strap device is clunky... not quite as bad as the muzzle worn by Hannibal Lecter in Silence of the Lambs, but certainly very visible
Zeus Sleep is a discreet lightweight chin strap which has had 15 years’ development with top sleep doctors
Once you’ve switched it on and decided on the level of ‘pulsation’ you can bear (between 1-10), the device automatically goes quiet for 20 minutes to allow you to fall asleep. Then, as your airways narrow, the regular stimulation restarts. Next morning you peel off the device, throw away the single-use pad, and recharge. You’re meant to use it every night because the manufacturers claim your skin’s nerve receptors will adapt over time. You’re warned not to wear face cream or have facial hair (not guilty!) because the device won’t stick. I have sensitive skin but experienced no irritation.
The device – made by an enterprising small company, who worked with medics and researchers at Guy’s and St Thomas’ and King’s College London – uses gentle transcutaneous electrical stimulation (TENS) technology which has been around since the 1970s but until now never been applied to snoring.
I wear the device for a week. To see if my snoring levels have actually come down, I download SnoreLab, a free phone app that tracks your nocturnal noise levels. Mortifyingly it marks them as ‘epic’, ‘loud’, ‘light’ or ‘quiet’.
On night one, I can see from the chart that although I have spent 2 hours 32 minutes of my 8-hour time in bed snoring (gulp) only a quarter of that time was ‘loud’, with the rest ‘light’. And I never once strayed into ‘epic’.
To my delight, when I consult my Fitbit, I find my amount of deep sleep actually doubled.
But after my second night, I check the app and (oh no) this time it’s my snoring level that has doubled. I spent half the night snoring!
I chat to the lovely Zeus technician who advises me to stick the wing-shaped receptors on the throat muscle first, and worry less about fitting it under the chin.
On the third night it’s down again: 1 hour 47 minutes spent snoring but less than a fifth is ‘loud’. Progress! But I won’t lie, it does vacillate a bit during the week.
Once you’ve invested in the device, you do need to buy a 30-day supply of pads each month after that (£30 from Zeus or Boots). Next month, after three positive clinical trials, it will begin a £1.5million trial across six NHS trusts.
The aim is for it to be endorsed as an NHS treatment for snoring and the more serious condition of OSA (affecting around 8 million people in the UK), which is at present treated with a big cumbersome mask you strap to your face each night called a CPAP (continuous positive airway pressure) machine.
When I talk to Nigel Clarke, chief executive of Zeus Sleep (himself a snorer who is occasionally banished to the spare room by his wife), he’s proud that his device is improving lives.
He tells me that the same TENS technology is currently being trialled to spot pre-eclampsia and foetal distress in pregnant women much earlier.
My spirits are lifted at this news. What an incredibly important project. If data from my wretched snoring can be a part of medical history, I’ll live with the embarrassment.
I resolve to continue wearing my Zeus chin strap on nights alone with the cat. Maybe – just maybe – if we reach a year together, I’ll risk coming clean with my new bloke!
