It’s been too long since I’ve given you a medical update here on the blog. If you’re my personal friend or Facebook friend, you probably know what’s been going on. But if not, I feel like I should let you in on something…something quite crappy going on in my life.
I thought it would be a life saver. And maybe, eventually, it will be. But right now, I wish I had never done it. Because now, you see, I’m worse off than I was before. Before I was going deaf and now I not only need to wear an earplug 24/7, but I also have mind-numbing pain. All. The. Time.
Let’s take a step back. The surgery was to repair my going-deaf ear by replacing one of the tiny ear bones with a tiny titanium prosthetic. The surgeon said it went fine and that I was recovering well. But I insisted I wasn’t “recovering well”, because I was still having pain.
“I’ve never heard of this,” he said. The words still echo through my mind nine months later. “You should not be having pain this long after surgery.” After a few post-op visits, and hearing tests that proved I was, in fact, gaining my hearing back, he dismissed me with those final words. He wouldn’t prescribe me any more painkillers and insisted on a regimen of Aleve.
I wept my way to the parking lot in a blur of tears. He didn’t understand; couldn’t understand. Aleve? Aleve wouldn’t cut it. I was not, and am not, addicted to painkillers, for Christ sakes. This was–is–real pain, cutting through my ear and reaching up behind my eye, yanking down my neck like some devil’s hand. It never goes away. Morning, noon, night–pain.
I have a life to lead. A life that was going along swimmingly until I lost my hearing; a life that was going along great until the operation. My two tiny girls have a mommy who is cranky, deaf and frustrated.
It sounds like I’m blaming the surgeon. Maybe I should be, and maybe I shouldn’t be. I have no diagnosis to go on. I’m just so fed up, living with day-to-day pain. I’ve been to four other doctors—three more on the docket in the coming weeks, including the Mayo Clinic in Phoenix—and no one can give me an answer as to why this pain is occurring. I’ve had MRIs, CTs, massage, cranio-sacral therapy. I manage on a regimen of painkillers that I loathe— they make my mind foggy and sleepy. I don’t want to live on pharmaceuticals, but right now they’re the only things I’ve found that makes the pain manageable. They don’t even fully take it away, just numb it a bit.
The worst part? Sound makes the pain worse. The simple banter of my daughter requesting eggs for breakfast is murder; if I must attend a loud event I’m screwed for days. I’ve become a recluse, mostly avoiding social situations when I can. The world is loud, and it won’t stop being loud. I don’t blame it. I want the world to be loud–I just want to be a part of it. I want to hear it.
I wear an earplug at all hours of the day. It irritates my ear even further and everyone stares at me curiously. I don’t listen to music. I don’t watch TV. I don’t go to movies. I used to enjoy these things—they used to make me happy, make me relax, and now I can’t.
I’m back to where I was—deaf—but worse than deaf. My other ear, the one without the earplug, is deafer than it was before we discovered the disease (otosclerosis), and it’s degenerative. My poor children and husband have to repeat themselves endlessly to speak to me. We should just get pads and pens to communicate. The only thing that keeps me sane right now is this—writing—but on the painkillers my brain gets foggy and word recall is sometimes difficult. I think I’ll lose my mind soon.
I worship those of you who have been living with chronic pain for longer than I have. I don’t know how you do it (how do you do it?). There are so many people worse off than me—I’m just being a pathetic whiner.
But I do feel as though I have to tell my story in case there is someone out there reading who is experiencing the same thing. If that’s you—if you have otosclerosis (conductive hearing loss)—thoughtfully consider your options. I vainly chose surgery immediately. I didn’t want to live with hearing aids at 30 years old. But boy, right now, I’d take looking funny over feeling awful.
Stay well. Hug your kids. Call a friend. Blast your music. Go to movies. RSVP YES! to that party. Listen to the traffic and the birds and the lawnmowers. I hope that I will be able to again, someday soon.