Opinion: Ear-y trip to the doctor


Ear ye! Ear ye! I am cured! My fight for auditory good health was finally won last week after a visit to my local ENT, and because I have officially depleted my arsenal of ear puns, the scoop that follows will be mercifully un-clever. You’re welcome.

Readers may recall that in mid-June, my left ear became completely blocked with wax, leading to almost total hearing loss and an infection. Two Minute Clinic runs failed to resolve the problem, so I decided to meet with the top dogs. I found myself in the office of my husband’s long-time otolaryngologist, who entered the exam room with a sarcastic, “Oh, it’s you.” (Danielle is my middle name; people with my official records never know who I am. It’s both a curse and a blessing.) After the requisite “How’s Doo?” conversation, he assured me I’d be fine, despite the trauma of my earlier CVS experiences. He’s a surgeon, after all.

He’s also a big, fat liar. I was not fine, because apparently, I had accumulated an unusual amount of wax that had adhered itself to my eardrum like a scab, and the traditional means of extraction simply weren’t working. At one point, Doc said, “I’m falling behind with other patients, and this is not normal. Let’s take a break.” To be fair, he did offer local anesthesia, but warned that a shot – in my ear – would definitely hurt. No thank you. I womaned-up and returned to my Lamaze breathing.

After much digging and scraping and air-blasting, and a little bit of internal crying, I was cured. I literally . . . ch-eared.


Peace out.


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