2/18
Warning- this is not a ‘happy’ post
As I neared the end of the workday, in the quiet after the public was gone, I couldn’t help noticing ear noises. I never gave them a second thought until a claimant called up a few weeks ago and complained his brain tumor was giving him ear noises. Having to listen to them made me wonder if my tumor had actually announced itself long before it was obvious.

Think. The first really unusual one was in tenth grade English class. From out of nowhere came the sound of a clarinet and I was pretty sure it was an F-flat for some reason. I would bet it was the brain tumor’s coy announcement though.

Since then there have been several instances of hearing a tone. They were always odd, but never particularly significant. Farther back…?

The strongest hearing-related memory was early primary school. Every couple of years a guy would come around and test all the kids hearing. He was probably early thirties, very business-like with a Marine buzz-cut. Prior years testing had been okay. But this year things changed.

Okay, just extend a finger when you hear a sound. Sometimes I thought I heard a sound, but wasn’t sure because it was lost in static. Depending on how sure I was I extended a finger. Other times I’d hear a sound and it just went on and on- the finger stayed up.
The tester only got more and more exasperated. He was sure I was messing with him and wanted me to stop. He said we were going to do it again.

Swallowed hard, sat very still, closed my eyes, and alright, I’ll try to do better. I strain to hear better- nothing changes. I’m listening just as hard as I can. I’m still struggling with the tones, but I can hear him getting angrier. Do better, have to do better. Just listen, just listen. It never gets any better. He’s sure I’m playing games, and I don’t know what else to do. I’ve gotten an adult angry with me and I just don’t know what to do.

He told me to sit in the corner and watch the next kid get tested. He worked his machine, the girl raised her finger to his satisfaction and she was out of there in a couple of minutes. It was amazing, it was so easy for her. Perhaps assuming I was properly instructed by example, or properly embarrassed, he had me sit down again. It was the same thing all over again.

Furious, but apparently unable to think of any other way to deal with me, he sent me back to class. Everyone in class looked at me like there must be something wrong with me to come back out of order.

Recalling this made me cry. I was back on the chair, desperately trying to hear, unable to do it. Making that guy angry again. And I wanted to hold that scared little boy and tell him even if it was never all okay it wasn’t his fault and he was still a good boy. It's hard to read and type when you're crying. It was time to go home.

And I’m crying again.



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