It was early August, 2013. The first week, in fact. I remember because I had jury duty. A welcome reprieve from my demanding job as Accounting and Collections Manager. I remember sitting at the back of the courtroom, waiting for my name to be called, and there was this subtle ringing in my ears. The sort that you might have after attending a loud concert. I believe it was constant, but I was able to ignore it most of the time. Until I went home and had the added distraction of children arguing. Kids can be so loud sometimes. I snapped at them to be quiet, which was not unusual for me to do. However, Mike must have sensed that something was wrong because he told me I should call the doctor in the morning. I did call, and was able to get into the family doctor the following day. By this time the ringing was becoming more persistent, and now when people were talking to me, their voices sounded strange. It was hard to describe then, and even more so now after all this time. Tinny is the word I think I used. As if people were talking into a tin can. That’s just a guess of course; I have no idea what that would actually sound like. This all left the doctor thoroughly stumped, and so she referred me to an ear, nose, and throat (ENT) specialist.

I called the specialist to schedule an appointment that afternoon but they couldn’t see me for a few days. “A few days” doesn’t seem like much, but it turned out to be an eternity. That phone call was the last call I made as a naturally hearing human. By the time I went to see the specialist, those few days later, I had lost any ability for word recognition. What I could hear at that point, which was diminishing quickly as well, sounded garbled and distorted. Turning up the volume or talking louder did no good.

A friend accompanied me to the visit with the ENT, and it was a good thing she did, because I had no way of knowing what was being said to me. The ENT pulled his hearing aid off his own ear, held it in his hand, pointing to it as he spoke. I tried desperately to read his lips, while also looking at the hearing device as he pointed. It was useless. Even skilled lip readers only understand 30% of what’s being spoken. Don’t let the movies fool you; lip reading is very difficult, and very inefficient.

I went home that day with a borrowed hearing aid – thank goodness not the one the aging ENT had been using – and was instructed to try wearing it for at least an hour a day. It was no use. It did amplify sound, but the sounds were so distorted it was impossible to understand anything. It was just frustrating noise. Hearing aids were not going to help me.

I was soon referred to an ear doctor, an otolaryngologist to be exact. This office specialized in hearing issues, and was not at all surprised by my rapid onset hearing loss. They got right to work at treating it the best they knew how, and that meant steroid shots. In my ears. Now, I can think of worse areas to have needles inserted, but ears are right up there. I had to lie on the exam table, on my side, as still as possible. The medicine was injected into the innermost part of my ear and I had to sit there for a half hour while the medicine dispersed. It was very painful, and I gripped my husband’s hand for the entirety. He never left my side. After the first ear was done, I had to turn over and do it all over again with the other ear. Once that special torture was over, they sent me home with a prescription for oral steroids where I would wait and hope for a miracle.

The miracle I was waiting for did not come.

Journal Entry 9/11/13: “I am nervous and anxious. Every minute of the day. The tinnitus is relentless and loud. The steroids make my legs shaky, and my vision blurred. I worry because I can’t hear what’s going on around me. If I can’t see it happening, I’m unaware. Where are the children? Is the water boiling yet? Did I remember to turn off the garbage disposal? This is difficult for a control freak. I have to let that go.”

I found out later that it was not the steroids affecting my vision…