Tinnitus

That sounds like a horrible word.  It even rhymes with the equally horrid tetanus.  

Tinnitus IS horrible.  It comes from the Latin word that means “ringing.” 

Nothing horrible about ringing, really. Not when it comes from bells, alarm clocks, and the telephone.

But when it happens 24/7 within the human ear, mine particularly—its' @#$%!

After reading my friend Yay's blog about her migraine woes, I wrote her: “We are all going through some kind of pain, Yay. Quitting is a cop out. Easier said than done, but in our noisy moments, when we debate with ourselves, we hear another voice that says, 'Be still and know that I am God.'"
I was actually talking to myself.  Because all my seconds, minutes, and hours are noisy. Suffering from tinnitus, which my doctor said is incurable and degenerative, I have not heard silence in over three years. I don't even know what silence means anymore.  There is always that constant ringing—like a hundred thousand cicadas or a dozen busy welders—wherever I am, especially when I am standing or sitting still.

My friend Lucy from across the seas, coming to my rescue on the phone, told me about this dietary supplement pill—the spelling of which she forgot—that has been designed specifically for people with this malady.  She called me back a few hours later, emailed me and sent me a message on FB to give me the pill's exact spelling.  She is seriously thinking of sending me some in case it isn't available here.

With the pill's name written down in big, bold letters, I ran to the nearest pharmacy to buy my supply.  Alas, nobody there knows anything about it.  I went to the biggest drugstore chain, but nope, no such thing in its inventory.

I don't know how my tinnitus came about.  My research on the subject yielded these facts: it is not a disease, it is a symptom that can result from many causes: abnormally loud sounds in the ear canal (I hate loud sounds!); ear  infections (never had one!); wax build-up (I regularly clean my ears!); nasal allergies that prevent or induce fluid drain (well . . .); aging (now, now . . .); and genetics (that's it!).

My grandmother and mother must have suffered from the same thing.  They never really described it the way I am belaboring it, but they had difficulty hearing.  They claimed they could hear, but couldn't make out the correct words.  That's exactly my sad state at the moment.  

The fact that one out of five within my age range (50 million people of all ages in the US reported having the symptom) are tinnitus sufferers should make me feel better. 

“The more you rant and rave about it, the more you hear it,” Tony said. 

“I can't ignore it. It's with me from the time I wake to the time I go to bed.” 

“Then learn to live with it,” he countered.

I let my mind loose and travel: to war-torn places where people hear nothing but sounds of bombs, guns, scuffles of feet, moans of pain, and wails of death; to earthquake-rased areas where one hears only groans of hunger, anguish, and despair.  

And I grumble about the ringing in my ears? 

Uh . . . um . . . okay, I have my occasional noisy moments (tantrums, Yay calls them), that's all.  And this post is one of them.

I have lived quite well with tinnitus for over three years—only because I receive dollops of daily grace.  And with more globs of this wondrous, precious  gift from above, I can continue to live with my singing cicadas and hard-working welders in a world that is constantly a-ringing.