My ear-y tale of auditory distress continues, friends, as I have bravely fought — but not yet defeated — a weeklong battle against a giant ball of hardened wax and its ally, the mighty otitis. I’m currently regrouping during a momentary ceasefire orchestrated by those beloved diplomats, Advil and Zithromax, but I’ll have to jump back into the fray soon. I can’t actually hear the enemy (or anything, for that matter), but I can feel them closing in.
I thought it would be a decisive victory during my second encounter on the fields of Minute Clinic, but, alas, despite an NP firing a (water) cannon into my left ear — three times, mind you — and then repeatedly stabbing said ear with what could and should be labeled a bayonet, that treasonous wax glob didn’t budge, not one iota. In fact, I dare say it decidedly hunkered down, refusing to yield even a tiny part of its Benedict Arnold-self or the canal it guarded. A full retreat was ordered, and I fled to the safety of my minivan, finding catharsis in 107.9 FM and post-traumatic tears.
So here I am, still in agony, still in an epic fight for my middle ear. The antibiotics, despite their powerful reputation, have failed thus far to provide the support they promised. Desertion is rampant –sleep, appetite and balance are all AWOL – and I fear morale is dropping to unrecoverable levels. I have a few more days before the next scheduled assault and am praying that I will finally emerge victorious. Because one way or another, this needs to end. Auditory distress is hell, not to mention bloody ear-itating.