On a cold winter morning in 1977, with snow that reached to the middle of our windows, I cried in my mother’s lap. The pain inside my ears was excruciating and it wouldn’t go away. I remember my mother cradling me with a pinched expression, trying to reass...ure me everything would be better soon. Of course, my ear infection did get better, but when it left, it took something away: my hearing.
My hearing didn’t leave all at once, but the ear infection started the process. At least, that’s what we believe. Before my illness, I’d never had any problems hearing or understanding, but after – well, that’s a different story.
Hearing loss crept up on me slowly, nearly undetected. It started when I first complained to my mother in early 1978 of a horrible ringing in my ears. She assured me it would go away, but it didn’t. It never left me. The condition is called tinnitus, and it’s not really a ringing, but a cacophony of sounds generated in the brain. Sometimes it’s quiet, some days I have a veritable symphony of constant tones in innumerable pitches and frequencies. Some days the lower pitches are loud. Other days, the high squeals that resemble a trio of badly-tuned flutes invades my head. Sometimes I can’t tell the difference between the humming of my refrigerator and the noises in my head.
My hearing didn’t leave all at once, but the ear infection started the process. At least, that’s what we believe. Before my illness, I’d never had any problems hearing or understanding, but after – well, that’s a different story.
Hearing loss crept up on me slowly, nearly undetected. It started when I first complained to my mother in early 1978 of a horrible ringing in my ears. She assured me it would go away, but it didn’t. It never left me. The condition is called tinnitus, and it’s not really a ringing, but a cacophony of sounds generated in the brain. Sometimes it’s quiet, some days I have a veritable symphony of constant tones in innumerable pitches and frequencies. Some days the lower pitches are loud. Other days, the high squeals that resemble a trio of badly-tuned flutes invades my head. Sometimes I can’t tell the difference between the humming of my refrigerator and the noises in my head.
