My Left Foot Ear

God, has it really been a week since I updated here? Is this thing on?

Yes, it’s been a while folks, but don’t worry, I’m not updating now without a good excuse for my laziness. In fact, I have two!

Excuse Number 1: Work

Yes, that old chestnut. For reasons best known to themselves, everyone wants a piece of me this month. Why? No idea, but it’s actually starting to wear pretty thin, especially given that I spent most of my Christmas “break” feeling sick as a dog, and therefore didn’t actually get much of a break at all. Not that I’m bitter, of course, oh HELL no: I mean, I thoroughly enjoyed feeling like hell as everyone else celebrated around me. LOVED IT. Gah.

Excuse Number 2: Ill! Again! But a different kind of ill this time! Exciting!

No, I haven’t had the cold again, although, actually? That might have been more fun. No, the thing that’s been ailing me has been far worse than that, and it’s mighty embarrassing to have to say this, so I’m just going to come right out with it: it was earwax. Yes, earwax. Other people get to have interesting illnesses, that allow them to lie, pale but beautiful, on a chaise longe somewhere, being fed big, juicy grapes and reading trashy novels. Me? I get freakin’ earwax. GOD.

So yes, my poor old left ear has been through the mill this week. People, I have tried everything to dislodge the waxy build up (I know it’s embarrassing to read this, but trust me, it’s even more embarrassing to have to write it. In fact, I have no idea why I’m doing it.), and by “everything” I mean, “yes, I know you’re not supposed to mess around with your ears but YOU try being totally deaf in one of them for days on end and let’s see how YOU cope, eh?” And also: I was desperate.

Nothing worked. The Olbas oil did not work. The special eardrops Terry bought me did not work (although they did provide a not-unpleasant fizzing sensation in my ear, so I kept on using them). The great big wad o’chewing gum in the left side of my jaw sort of worked, but then I chewed so much that my jaw got sore and kind of froze, and I got sores on the inside of my mouth, which is totally the kind of thing that could only happen to me. Finally, last night while we were watching Celebrity Big Brother, Rubin snuck into the bedroom and stole my eardrops from my bedside table, having first taught himself how to jump onto the bed. Then he destroyed them.

That was the end of the eardrops (although Rubin’s ears are as clean as a whistle now), so this afternoon, and with very great reluctance, I dragged myself off to the doctor to have the ear syringed – or rather, Terry dragged me there because I? Was terrified. Why was I terrified? Well, as you know, I am a hypochondriac. The last time I went to the doctor, I almost forgot my own name. Every time I go there, I convince myself they’re going to take one look at me and say, “OMG, you have cancer! You have only two minutes left to live!” This is why I chose to fart around with eardrops rather than seeing the doctor a week ago. Also: on Monday we went to see Terry’s mum, and told her of my plight. “Oh, I had my ears syringed not long ago!” said Terry’s mum, cheerfully. “It was so excruciating I was screaming in pain! Would you like something to eat now?”

So, to say I was scared as I sat there in the waiting room would be something of an understatement.

“Terry? I am scared,” I told Terry, who had a brought a book with him so that he wouldn’t have to listen to my whining. (And who was there because I was convinced that the excruciating pain would render me unable to drive myself home).
“Don’t worry babe, you’re just a nutjob,” said Terry, comfortingly.
“I’m not a nutjob: I’m a nutjob with a wax-clogged ear!” I pointed out, forgetting for the moment that although I may be deaf, everyone else in the waiting room could hear perfectly well, and now they all knew about my wax-clogged status. Just as you all do now, Internet! Doh!

Luckily, I didn’t have long to wait. The doctor took me into her office and peered with a light into my ear. “Yes, you have a HUGE amount of wax in there,” she told me helpfully. I could swear she also said a sentence which featured the word “cancer”, but my ear was pretty blocked so I can’t be sure. I’m going to worry about it anyway.

She didn’t do anything about the wax, of course. No, that’s a job for someone else, apparently: I’m picturing someone strong and muscly- a bit like Mr T, say – who will show up with a huge ice-pick like thing and lever the wax out with it, GOD. It’s happening tomorrow at 11.50am. Think of me then, Internet. Think of me, and maybe make a donation to the RNID in my name or something.

2007? You suck.