Neti Pot

I have problem nostrils. Ask anyone who's ever shared not just a room but even a house with me and they will tell you about the snoring, which is less like snoring and more like gagging, strangulated gasps and wheezes that I make during the night. It sounds, in all seriousness, as though I am dying. Of murder.

And it's been that way since I was a kid. In an attempt to enable easier breathing, my mother used to put three or even four pillows under my head when I went to sleep at night, propping me up at an angle only a few degrees away from fully sitting up. When I think back on it today, what comes to mind is the Elephant Man, and how he had to sleep sitting up or he would die. It's a good thing I didn't know about the Elephant Man when I was a kid, or else I probably would have gotten the idea that I suffered the same affliction as him, and my mother -- bless her soul -- just didn't want to tell me, ruining my self-esteem and preventing me from reaching my full potential as something that someone with neurofibromatosis can become, such as a freak.

Another favorite was Vicks VapoRub. My mother and sister, for reasons unknown to me, believe that any kind of thick gooey slime rubbed onto the skin can work miracles. See lotion. Hand lotion, they believe, is not only beneficial but also necessary, despite the majority of the population getting on just fine without it. See Aloe. It doesn't even have a discernable intended purpose. See that Royal Jaffra Bee Jelly stuff. See lip balm. See Vicks freaking VapoRub.

So there I was, if you can picture this, wee Seanny, on my back, propped up on four pillows with the first four buttons of my flannel jammies undone like some kind of sleazy lounge singer, chest aslather in menthol goo. Though I don't remember it happening, I'm sure I must have woken up on several occasions with dead bugs stuck to my chest -- bugs who landed there during the night, probably with dubious intentions (I am like mosquito Moët et Chandon), got stuck, and perished. A grisly La Brea Tar Pits-like scene played out in miniature, just inches away from my sleeping, angelic face.

The problem with both of these methods -- the pillows and the VapoRub -- is that they're geared toward someone who sleeps on his back, which I do not. This may be a blessing, though; another one of my many unfortunate characteristics is that I drool in my sleep, a lot, and if I ever did manage to fall asleep in menthol-fresh Elephant Man configuration, there is the very real possibility that I'd have drown.

Other things were tried: humidifiers, allergy remedies, special soap, excessive vacuuming and dusting. None of it ever made a difference. The last possible explanation being that I am simply allergic to air, I was resigned to living with my ever-stuffy nose. Oddly enough, it's only ever one nostril at a time, though whether it's the left or the right varies by the day. And it's not a snotty stuffiness. It's more like what I would call a constricted nostril, as though the diameter of the airway was somehow reduced -- almost shut.

Imagine my excitement, then, when I first read about Neti Pots.

A Neti Pot, for those of you not in the new-age-bullshit-know, is a little teapot-looking majigger with a phallic-looking spout designed to be inserted into your nose. Tilt your head and angle slightly down, and water flows in one nostril and out the other, clearing away long-forgotten mucous and debris.

And this is where I got real interested: long-forgotten mucous and debris. From what I read on several Neti Pot-oriented websites (which -- and this should have been a warning sign -- also often had sections on runes and crystals), mucous can sort of linger way back in your sinuses, drying out and making its permanent home there. Timeless, hardened mucous dating back to dark ages of old, forgotten by all but these fringe-dewllers, in harmony with nature and things that modern man in his journey from the savannas to the cities has long since forgotten. And this simple little pot would help me rehydrate it and flush it into the sewer.

So I ordered my Neti Pot, a simple blue affair for under six euros, and within the week it arrived. And on the day it arrived, it was the right nostril.

I took it into the bathroom and ran some lukewarm water. Now, according to what I read, you're actually supposed to boil the water first, to purify it, and let it cool down before pouring it into your head. But come on, I drink my tap water all the time, surely it must be germ-free, right? Another rule I read is that you're supposed to use a saline solution instead of plain water, but not having any non-iodized salt and being impatient, I skipped that too.

And there I was. Standing over the sink, Neti Pot full of lukewarm water, right nostril full of the mucous of an ancient and dark age. I figured that since it was the right nostril that was plugged, it'd be better to pour the water into the left one, forcing the blockage out the nearest exit. Jesus this was going to be easy. I hefted the Neti Pot, tilted my head to the right, and in a maneuver which has given me feelings of confusion which I'm still working my way through, on a personal level, I carefully guided the Neti Pot into my open, waiting nostril.

What came to mind was those plastic, reusable children's curly straws that are so long you can see your beverage actually moving through them, as the water snaked its way to the back of my nose and turned the corner. The wrong corner, apparently, I realized, as water started dribbling out my mouth. But within a moment I'd realized that mouth-breathing was necessary to staunch the flow, and began taking slow, deep breaths, minimizing the time between them when water could (and did) flow on its natural course out my mouth and to the sea. Luckily I'm a natural mouth-breather, so this proved no problem.

And this is where it began to get unpleasant. You know that burning sensation you get in the molten core of your head when you've accidentally snucked up a big noseful of water in the pool? And how it reflexively triggers that intense fear and belief that you're about to die? Imagine a long, sustained version of that, except there's also a blue phallus wedged firmly into your left nostril, and you will have an idea of what I was thinking would be preferable to the discomfort the Neti Pot was causing me at that moment. And also, no water was coming out the right nostril. Why wasn't the Neti Pot melting my prehistoric snot like warm butter and sending it down the drain to hell where it belonged? Maybe it's because I skimped on the salt, I thought. Salt kills slugs, and slugs are made of snot. It sounded reasonable.

I stood. And I waited. Jesus, my bathroom sink needed to be cleaned. I looked at the white calcium buildup encrusting the faucet and thought of my decision not to purify the water. Maybe the Neti Pot could use a little help, I thought, and exhaled gently through my nose in an attempt to join forces with the Neti Pot's mighty water pressure and force the blockage out my right nostril. But all that happened was that the Neti Pot started bubbling, like a child's bubble pipe. It crossed my mind briefly that I should try and find a classy way to do this in public, but decided that unless the Neti Pot got with the goddam program, it would not be coming out with me, in a social context, ever.

It was about now that I got fed up. Fed up with the Neti Pot, fed up with its games. Water which had bubbled out the top of the Neti Pot was now running down my arms. Water that had escaped out my mouth between breaths was running down my chin and onto my shirt. Water seemed to be coming out of everywhere except where I wanted it to. I was wet, and my sinuses were burning. It wasn't working. I pulled the Neti Pot out of my nose, set it down, and yanked a few squares of toilet paper from the dispenser with my wet hand. I put the toilet paper up to my wet face, plugged my left nostril, and blew for all I was worth. When what came out flew right through the flimsy, wet paper and onto my hand, I let out a startled "augh!" and pulled my hand back. The wet paper, however, stuck to my face, fell down and even -- and this makes me uncomfortable just remembering it -- made contact with my tongue. I spit out what I could, making noises like "ppptht, ppptht," and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The soggy toilet paper clinging to my face below the nose formed a sort of white mustache on one side, and a wet flapping curtain half-covering my mouth on the other. My eyes were red and tearing up from the nasal irritation. Mucous was involved. Visibly.

Wondering why I bothered with the toilet paper formality in the first place, I just started blowing. Blowing blowing blowing, and what came out was plentiful and cascaded down my face and chin, and what I saw in the mirror staring back at me now was not pretty, not pretty at all. When nothing more would come out, I washed my face and threw the Neti Pot into the way-back of the cabinet under my sink, where I keep things that I hate. Despite what was just evacuated from my nose, I still couldn't breathe through my right nostril.

Stupid Neti Pot.