Yesterday I woke up completely deaf in my right ear. It’s a strange feeling, having at the very least five percent of one sense and then to suddenly, abruptly be without it. That five percent is a lot. That five percent did a lot. And now it’s gone. I’m not sad, really. I think I’m exhausted. To try and learn how to live completely deaf in one ear terrifies me. Learning to live with that mere five percent was difficult enough. This happens quite a bit, though. It could have happened for any number of reasons, but I’m almost positive that my ear canal is just blocked with wax or something completely normal. But the chances that it’s not? Well, that still rests with me every time I lay my head down to sleep.
Today I woke up completely deaf in my right ear. I wasn’t surprised, to be honest. Disappointed, yes. But also curious as to what is actually wrong with me this time. Of course, I’m imagining the absolute worst, but I’ve come so far in this game of cat and mouse that I feel a little numbed to the shock of what’s happening. I remain utterly calm as I email my mother to request the email of my ENT. I tell my mother what’s happening and await her response. She will be more anxious than I am, that’s for sure. I feel a little terrible that my only question when waking up this morning was “Ugh, what now?” instead of “Yikes, this kind of sucks. What is happening?”
I have no room left in me to exhaust questions of fear. In a way, I have already accepted what’s happening, already decided to live with it. That makes me a little bit sad.
You know that silence, that little static noise you hear first thing in the morning? As if there is a field of wheat rustling inside your tiny little ear drum and it’s pressing a breeze into your cheeks while you yawn the rest of your body awake – white noise. The only thing I can think of right now is how lonely I feel without the presence of that white noise.