Bella-isms readers, my apologies. Life happened. Work + Illness + Travel. I’m in the process of lining up some guest bloggers for the next time I get slammed with an ear infection which by my accounts should be right around mid-June. I’ve spent the past eight days with a pretty mild ear infection but you know how those things go. You do the things you have to do, like go to the job that pays the internet bill, so you can get back to doing the things you want to do, like write posts for your internet blog.
The fact that I’m still holding my ear after I type every other sentence means this antibiotic isn’t working and I’m definitely scheduling the adenoidectomy tomorrow at my follow-up appointment. I want my life back. Especially since all things considered this is a relatively mild ear infection. The first five days I only averaged four hours of sleep, but I did actually sleep. Last night I was up more than I had been since I started amoxicillin. I knew I should have asked for the Z-pak instead. What is it about doctors that make us think they know better for our health than we do?
If it isn’t clear by now why I hate spring more than cold weather, cats and cops it’s because while I absolutely hate winter and become clinically delusional from cabin fever and grey skies, it isn’t until the flowers start to bloom that I want to die. I feel with every fiber in my right ear drum that spring is doing its best to take me out year after year. (And you’re probably very clear on why I hate spring more than cats and cops. Neither of them can be trusted.) But backing up to paint the prettiest picture for you, I haaate winter to the point of it being inconceivable that I could hate anything more.
I don’t do cold weather.
I don’t do snow.
I don’t do ice.
I don’t do driving on ice.
I don’t do driving on snow.
I don’t do shoveling, except because I had to do shoveling, I did it without gloves or coats or boots because…
I don’t do outerwear.
I hate wearing coats. I feel smothered and bulky and it feels impossible to move gracefully with forty additional pounds of winter stuff on my head, neck, feet and upper body while trudging through the snow. Add to that the fact that I’m still cold and it’s a no-brainer why I prefer being freezing and comfortable than cold, miserable and looking like an adult-sized Randy from A Christmas Story when all I really need to do is get from my apartment to my car without catching my death of cold. So I walk around in the dead of winter, January and February without a winter coat or winter boots (I didn’t even own winter boots until the end of my third New England winter). Part of this is my refusal to participate in life when it’s below freezing and/or snowing. And part of it is just maniacal wishful thinking that if I dressed for spring it would come.
Clearly, the windchill and frost bite had me delusional because the only thing worse than winter is spring. The only thing worse than frozen toes and a perpetual runny nose is a nose that doesn’t run out from a swollen adenoid. Instead, it runs back, drips down trying to find an exit and gets stuck in a itty bitty ear canal where it decides to host an infection party. The rest of the world runs around getting flu shots like it’s the fountain of youth from October through December and I sit idly by on the sidelines wishing that the flu was the worst of my health problems. I ain’t never scared of the flu. I’m afraid of spring, afraid of what spring will undoubtedly do to me when that yellow crack-like powder dusts each and everything that dares to brave the outside world for more than 2.5 seconds. My body gets so sick. It’s like I’m allergic to new life.
I would blame my parents and their nonsensical desire to pass on defective genes but it’s not their fault that I drew the short stick in the ear, nose and throat department. Literally. I’ve been informed that the root behind my ear infection-plagued life indeed lies with my baby-sized ear canals. Way back when, in the early 1980’s, my ears decided they weren’t too keen on growing along with the rest of my body. My ears, and its canals, are in the infancy stage of development along with my ability to respond any sort of physical discomfort. That being said, I’ll never know if I my parents were too cheap to have tubes put in my ears or if modern science wasn’t so modern three decades ago. But I do know one thing though: these adenoids are coming out. I want my life back.
Someone had the audacity to question whether a little ear infection hurts all that much. I suspect the only reason why I remained calm is because I knew if I blew a gasket I could have passed out from the pain of rupturing my eardrum or I would have ruptured his eardrum and them asked him to evaluate his pain. So here’s the honest to goodness truth.
I once contracted salmonella from an unknown source and it went untreated for almost two weeks before the hospital found the results of my stool sample and called the county health department to notify them of a solitary outbreak. I kid you not, it was Murphy’s Law all over the place but I would rather live through the agony of shitting on myself, rolling out of bed, dropping to the floor and calling for help because I couldn’t walk, crawl or lift myself to the toilet (much less control my bowels) because of dangerously low potassium levels than have a double ear infection. It’s absurd. I know. Because no one ever dies from double ear infections and people die from untreated salmonella poisoning but there was one relief with food poisoning that allowed me to recover despite a major medical center dropping the ball: Sleep.
I slept. I slept all day. I slept all night. And while I couldn’t eat food and refused to drink even the tiniest sip of water, which in all honesty is probably what did me, I could rest. That’s probably what saved me. But with an ear infection, there is no sleep and with a double ear infection, I could feel the weight of my body pounding against my eardrums with every step I took in both ears. I am not a light girl. But regardless of whether you weigh 100 lbs or twice that, the nightmare doesn’t end until your eardrums actually burst. Luckily, that happened right before I almost lost my mind after four consecutive nights of not getting the kind of restorative rest my body needed to heal itself. The infection had grown resistant to the antibiotics and went from throwing shade in my right ear to my left ear and then back again to my right ear.
Yes, asshole. It hurts. And I’d think twice about calling it a “little ear infection” but I know it’s hard to understand the nature of the pain if you haven’t experienced anything like it. I’ve already told myself if it ever happens again with an infection in both ears, I would have to commit myself to a psychiatric ward. And, no, I’m not being cavalier about mental health either. In the height of my delirium, I scavenged about the house for a pair of pliers so I could yank out my molars and ram the pliers through my ear drums. I hate to think what I would have done had I found them. Luckily, my functional fixedness prevented me from knocking my teeth out with the hammer I found. Next time I go mad, I’m not doing it on my own watch.