Waking up felt like dragging bricks through fog. I didn’t remember dreams. I didn’t feel rested. I thought it was stress or a late bedtime. But I was sleeping eight hours. Still, I yawned before breakfast. I drank coffee by the gallon. But the fatigue stayed. It was different from being tired. It was heavy. Deep. My partner said I snored loudly. Sometimes gasped. That scared me. I saw a doctor. He asked about sleep—not just hours but quality. That’s when I learned about apnea. The kind that hides in silence, not just in sound.
I assumed sleep problems belonged to neurologists—not ear, nose, and throat doctors
I pictured brain scans. Sleep labs with wires. I thought it was about dreaming, not breathing. But the GP said, “You should see ENT.” I blinked. I thought they fixed sinus infections. Ear wax. Throat pain. Not snoring. Not apnea. But they explained it clearly. Airway structures are their terrain. Nasal blockages. Throat shape. Palate collapse. ENT wasn’t just for infections—they handled structure. And apnea is structural more than people realize.
My nose didn’t just feel blocked—it physically narrowed when I lay down
They looked inside with a small camera. I hated it, but it showed the truth. One nostril collapsed inward while breathing. Not from mucus—from weak cartilage. Especially at night. That meant less air, more mouth breathing. My throat dried. My snoring increased. And my body didn’t get the oxygen it needed. They showed me on the screen. That moment shifted everything. It was no longer a feeling. It was a structure failing.
I thought my throat felt tight because I talked too much during the day
Turns out, my soft palate was too long. It hung low. Vibrated when I inhaled. Especially when asleep. That vibration caused snoring. But worse, it caused resistance. My uvula wasn’t just decorative—it obstructed breath. They measured it. Marked it. And explained how tissue created struggle. I’d never looked at my own throat that way. But now, I couldn’t unsee it.
I tried a CPAP machine and hated how foreign it felt
It blasted air into my face. It worked—technically. But I tore it off nightly. I woke up coughing. I woke up angry. I wanted to breathe better but not like that. ENT didn’t push me to continue. They offered options. Not just machines. Structural changes. Supportive devices. Surgery, maybe. But they listened first. That mattered.
They recommended a nasal valve implant that sounded strange—but made sense
It wasn’t dramatic. Just a tiny implant to support nasal walls. So they wouldn’t collapse. It worked better than I expected. Breathing felt natural. My snoring dropped. My partner noticed before I did. I didn’t expect something so small to create such change. ENT showed me how air moves—and how structure matters more than force.
I didn’t know my tonsils were still part of the problem as an adult
I hadn’t thought about tonsils since childhood. But ENT checked everything. Mine were large. Pressed against my airway. They recommended removal. Not because of infection—but to create space. It sounded dramatic. It wasn’t. Recovery was unpleasant—but temporary. The ease in breathing stayed.
I was surprised to learn my tongue could collapse backward while sleeping
The base of my tongue fell back during deep sleep. Not always. But often enough to narrow space. ENT measured the obstruction. Showed me scans. I couldn’t feel it—but I could see it. They recommended therapy. Not machines. Not drugs. Just muscle training. And it helped. Strengthening small muscles changed something I didn’t even know could be changed.
The sleep study revealed more than I expected—it showed when and how I stopped breathing
I wore sensors. Slept in a strange bed. It felt clinical. Cold. But the data helped. It showed my oxygen dropped repeatedly. My heart rate spiked. My breathing stopped and restarted dozens of times. It wasn’t imagined. It wasn’t minor. ENT used the report to target treatment—not guess.
They performed an exam while I was sedated to watch my airway collapse in real time
It was called drug-induced sleep endoscopy. I didn’t remember it. But the video showed everything. My throat narrowed. My palate fluttered. My tongue fell. Each segment failed. Not all at once—but enough to block air. ENT didn’t guess. They observed. That shaped everything that followed.
I didn’t realize that fixing sleep apnea could help my blood pressure
No one connected the two before. But ENT did. They explained how oxygen drops stress the heart. My heart. My pressure had crept up. Nothing else explained it. But once apnea improved, so did numbers. I didn’t expect better breathing to support better circulation. But it did.
Surgery sounded extreme—but they explained every option
They didn’t start with knives. They started with facts. Scans. Tests. Simple interventions. Nasal strips. Position therapy. Mouth guards. Only after trying those did we discuss tissue removal. And even then, they explained everything in layers. They never pushed. They educated. That was different.
Some nights I still struggle—but now I understand why
There are bad nights. Travel. Illness. Stress. But I understand now. I know the triggers. I know how structure behaves. ENT gave me tools. They didn’t cure me. They informed me. That distinction matters. Awareness replaced fear.
Source: Otorhinolaryngology Specialist in Dubai / Otorhinolaryngology Specialist in Abu Dhabi