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CHAPTER 1
My unwelcome introduction to tinnitus highlighted a gap in my education. I
had never even heard of it. When I eventually learned that it has been around
since people first walked the earth and that 66 million people in America and
some 20% of the world's population suffer from it in one form or another, I
was amazed that so many people had been able to keep this a secret from me.
Even worse, when it did introduce itself to me I assumed that it was going to
be a very temporary state of affairs possibly caused by excessive wax in my
ears.
I was on holiday with my wife Anita. It was our first day and having crossed
the channel from Dover to Calais we were driving through France en route to
Spain. It was a beautiful day and we had got off to a good start. Everything
was going according to my plan. I say my plan because Anita had not been
quite so successful with hers. She had forgotten her Life jacket - for the
ferry crossing.
Now I know and you know that ferries have their own life jackets and that
there are plenty of them. When we travel however we have to consider that the
captain may have forgotten to put them on board or, if he did remember, he may
forget where he put them. Despite assurances that ship’s captains are
renowned for their excellent memories, I am told that ours could be an
exception and if he did remember they may all be too big or too small. Even if
they had one, which could have been made to measure it might have a hole in it.
Trusting that Anita will never develop tinnitus and therefore never have
occasion to read this book I can safely make a confession. When she told me
of the missing life jacket, although I immediately expressed dismay and
despondency and feigned near panic, I was secretly very pleased. I believe
that people the world over would agree that you would feel a total idiot
standing next to someone wearing a life jacket close to the rail ready to
abandon ship the moment it heels more than five degrees on a thumping great
ship in a calm sea.
It may come as a surprise to Anita if she ever finds out, but our circle of
friends tends to agree with me. Several of them have tried to be helpful. I
have discreetly been taken aside on more than one occasion and been given good
advice - 'If I were you I'd forget the ferry and fly'. I hate putting people
down but the fact is I had already tried that. I prefer the ferry, life
jacket and all.
I always had extreme difficulty convincing Anita that our pilot had a happy
and stable marriage and that on the day of our flight he had not had a row
with his wife; that he was financially stable with no money worries; not
overweight and had recently passed a medical with flying colors and that the
aircraft had just been serviced. I managed to live with that task for a long
time but when I had to include the co pilot I decided that the ferry was worth
a try.
We had been driving along a French motorway in no particular hurry, when I
suddenly became aware of an awful noise. I listened for a while trying to
identify where it was coming from. It was a very loud hissing noise. The
windows were closed as we had the air-conditioning on. I wondered if a tyre
had sprung a leak but the car was steering normally. I glanced sideways at
Anita and could not understand why she seemed to be unaware of it. I thought
that maybe she was still pondering over her lucky escape without her life
jacket.
I continued to check the steering, listening carefully. The noise was really
loud and still Anita did not mention it. I didn’t risk saying anything because
I knew that as soon as she became aware of it she would insist that we pull
over and call for assistance. I would normally do this anyway but we were in
France and this was not a prospect I was looking forward to. Neither of us
have sufficient grasp of the French language to communicate such a problem
with anything other than extreme difficulty. Bad memories of a previous
occasion had flooded into my mind.
We had broken down on a French motorway on the outskirts of Metz two years
earlier. We made our way on foot to a roadside emergency telephone. I
mentioned earlier that neither of us has a very good grasp of the French
language. That was not quite accurate. Anita actually speaks it quite well or
at least I assume she does. With my linguistic limitations it is difficult to
be sure but she holds quite lengthy conversations with people who unless they
are pretending with her, seem to understand her rather well.
I was very impressed and more that a little proud of the way she spoke to
the person on the other end of the roadside assistance phone. Later I had
cause to doubt her ability. Within a couple of minutes she informed me that a
breakdown truck was on its way. Arms folded, I leaned against the boot of the
car with a definite air of nonchalance, which I am sure impressed passing
motorists. After basking in this reflected glory for thirty minutes I saw the
breakdown truck approaching. I quickly dived into the driving seat and closed
the door in case the mechanic tried to speak to me, and I left Anita to deal
with him. I detected a look of puzzlement on his face at being left to deal
with the lady over what is considered to be a sacrosanct area for men. I
promptly picked up my car telephone which at that time did not work in France
and proceeded to have a one sided conversation with myself while making
periodic hand gestures and trying to look important.
After about ten minutes I was running out of things to tell myself and my
occasional glances out of the window gave me the impression that not much
progress was being made. I became impatient with the non-existent voice at
the other end of the phone and slammed the receiver down to demonstrate to
anyone watching that I am not a man to be fooled with. No one was watching.
As I got out of the car, possibly with a hint of impatience I looked at Anita
and asked ''what's the problem'. I think that perhaps there had been a little
more than a hint of impatience in my voice because as she began to walk away
she said 'if you think that you can do any better you try'. You would be
amazed at how fast I was able to race round the car and get in front of her to
prevent her from getting in. I tried again more gently this time. 'But your
French is better than mine'.
That bit of information did not startle her.
'Well I can't understand him' she said.
Have you ever wished you could take back something you said? You know, that
urge you get to bite your tongue off. Well, that was about to hit me. I have
often wondered why you only get that feeling after you have opened your mouth
and not even a hint before. 'What do you mean you can't understand him?' I
pleaded. 'You speak French don't you. What's the matter with you we'll be
here all day at this rate'.
Anita's Richter scale had never experienced anything quite like it. It shot
right to the top of the scale. Her eyes, which were staring at me, seemed to
have every drop of the twenty-five percent Italian blood that flows through
her veins condensed into them and they were on fire. Her nostrils flared ready
to snort.
It was years of hard earned experience that saved me from a fierce verbal
battering that day. 'Sorry darling'. I said quickly whilst risking placing an
arm around her hunched shoulders and stroking her hair. Then at considerable
personal risk I planted a gentle lingering kiss on her lips. Her Richter scale
slowly returned to normal.
It transpired that our mechanic was Italian and that Anita speaking French
with an English accent while he spoke it with an Italian accent had been the
cause of the problem. After she had explained I turned to the mechanic and
said 'What isssss de prob lem'?
He pointed at the engine. 'La pumpa kaput'
I stretched up to my full five feet eight inches and with a sort of swagger
said to Anita 'It's not so difficult. It's the pump. It’s broken'.
She gave me a lovely smile as she got back in the car and said ' Oh good.
I'll leave you to sort it out then'.
You will now understand why I was so relieved that she had not noticed the
noise on this occasion. Not being one to look a gift horse in the mouth I
carried on driving but it continued to puzzle me.
After about an hour we pulled off the motorway to stop for coffee. Although
there were plenty of parking spaces close to the shop, I wanted one that was
far enough away to enable me to sneak back and inspect the car without Anita
knowing. I found the ideal space. It was screened from the shop by bushes and
trees but it was a long walk to the shop. Having spent the last thirty miles
busting to go to the loo, I cannot say that Anita was very enthusiastic about
my choice but I managed to get away with it.
Standing outside the car the noise was every bit as loud as it had been
inside. As I walked away the noise followed me and it then dawned on me that
the noise was in my ear. Which ear? I couldn't tell. My first reaction was
one of relief that there was nothing wrong with the car after all.
Having used the facilities attended by a large menacing lady sitting outside
the toilets I found that I didn’t have any money to place in her large
outstretched hand. I stood in front of her feeling very sheepish. I patted my
empty pockets and intermittently held my empty hands upwards, silently
mouthing 'no money' and shrugging my shoulders to inform her of my plight.
Even without opening her mouth she was able to very successfully tell me what
she thought of me. When Anita eventually appeared and nonchalantly crossed
her huge palm with silver, half of which any court in the world would say was
mine, she received a grateful nod and a smile which at first I thought was
directed at both of us until I received another scowl which had been held at
the ready for me.
With coffee, croissants and French bread on the table I decided that it was
time to get rid of that noise. I placed a finger on the lobe of each ear and
massaged them with increasing vigor. The noise was still there. I placed my
little fingers in my ears and shook them about. The noise persisted. I
banged each side of my head with the palms of my hands. Still silence eluded
me. Then I remembered a sure fire remedy. When you are flying and your ears
pop, hold your nose and try to blow through it. It works every time. Well
nearly every time. It did not work on this occasion. I repeated the entire
process several times but only succeeded in making myself the centre of
attention in a rather crowded café. Everyone had stopped eating. Some were
quite motionless and held their food in mid air with their mouths wide open
staring at me. Anita was looking from me to them and from them to me. I had
become so preoccupied by throwing myself wholeheartedly into administering my
cure that I had failed to notice.
I do not consider myself a particularly skilled entertainer and having
received nothing but strange looks from my large audience I decided to confine
my comical antics to a private performance in the future. I clapped my hands,
rubbed them vigorously together and tucked into my food with an air of 'Right.
That's that job jobbed'. It only took a few minutes for the cafe to return to
normal, although despite a shortage of tables, the one next to us remained
unoccupied for some time. Children who had hitherto been allowed to meander
around the room suddenly found themselves forced to sit at the table with
their parents. The hostile glares that I received from them persuaded me that
I would not enjoy very much success as a children’s entertainer and I made a
mental note never to become a Punch and Judy man.
I eventually concluded that my problem was caused by an excessive build up of
wax in my ears. I imagined that there was a tiny gap through which a force
ten gale was blowing. After a few more attempts to clear the blockage which
only succeeded in giving me a headache, I decided that a visit to a doctor may
produce a better result. I resolved to see one when we arrived in Spain. After
a night which seemed to last forever, we set off on the final leg of our
journey but arrived too late for me to see a doctor that day.
I was up bright and early the following morning having been awake for most of
the night. I skipped breakfast so that I could rush into town, get my
treatment over and enjoy the rest of my holiday. Having rushed about I
discovered that the surgery did not open until ten o clock, which meant that I
had to listen to that confounded noise for another hour.
Getting up early and missing breakfast was the worst thing I could have done.
The hour that I had to kill gave me time to think. Having diagnosed the cause
of my problem I began to ponder over the possible treatment. I managed to
think of several alternatives.
It seemed to me that one way or another I would be subjected to any one of a
number of cruel looking objects being poked into my ear. The longer I thought
about it the bigger and more vicious looking those objects grew in my mind.
To kill some time I popped into a bar for coffee. Having made myself
unpopular by proffering a five thousand peseta note to pay for it I left the
cafe to a lot of Spanish grumbling, that noise in my ear and a mental image of
a kango being inserted into it.
I stood outside the surgery and neither of my hands would obey my instruction
to open the door. After several abortive attempts I began to wonder if they
knew something that I didn't. I began thinking 'Suppose the doctor does not
speak English’. It said on the door that some did but I had the benefit of
having learnt logic from Anita. The one I get may not be able to; and even if
he did his English may not even be a match for my Spanish, which is limited to
ordering a cup of coffee. Poking myself in the ear and banging myself on the
side of my head whilst silently mouthing 'ear noise. Noise in my ear' could
easily result in a straight jacket being prescribed. That, and the thought of
that kango being poked into my ear gave a certain and hitherto unnoticed
melodic tone to the noise.
With the benefit of Anita's life jacket logic and the clear omen provided by
my hands refusing to open the surgery door, plus the fact that I am very
squeamish, I decided to postpone my treatment until I arrived back home.
When I explained to Anita what had happened and described my narrow escape she
said I was mad. She called me a baby - after all I had been through. I even
explained that I had used her very own carefully perfected logic to assist me
in making my decision. It made not a scrap of difference to her huffing and
puffing. There must be more to this logic business than I first thought. She
tried to make me go back and, even worse she offered to take me. It took what
proved to be a very expensive visit to the hotel boutique to distract her. .
Thinking back now, my whole behavior seems as ridiculous to me as it doubtless
does to you. The truth is that I thought that the noise would suddenly stop.
I thought my ears would suddenly pop and clear the blockage. I convinced
myself that if I just held on the problem would sort itself out and that it
could happen at any minute.
I spent the last few days telling myself that having waited so long I might
just as well stick it out until I arrived back home. I also spent that time
regretting that I had not walked through that surgery door on my first day. I
had spoiled my holiday and spent all that time suffering when I could have
been enjoying myself. Even worse I was consumed with guilt for having ruined
Anita's holiday.
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