Hush Y’all

Curled on my right side, I am waiting, yet again, to have a giant needle stuck deep into my left ear. Scott, the big, sweet nurse with the thick drawl, is holding my hand and trying to make me laugh. We’ve been here before.

My ear drum now punctured, the doctor steadily releases the medication. The room tilts and revolves like a slow-turning parasol. This too is familiar. I steady my breathing. “I’m okay,” I tell Scott. “I’m okay.”

He waits to make sure, then dims the lights. “I’ll check on you soon,” he whispers. “Don’t move, okay?”

These shots are part of an arsenal of treatments I receive to manage the disease that is destroying both my hearing and vestibular (balance) system. So far, nothing has worked.

One surprise of these difficult years is that hearing loss can be noisy. The sounds still present are often uncomfortably distorted and behind them, in my case at least, pulsatile tinnitus hammers like a construction site deep in the center of my brain.

Moving to North Carolina from New York City was, in so many ways, a search for quiet. Early on, I remember pulling up behind a tricked-out truck with a vanity license plate that read: Hush Y’all. I loved that so much.

Because I often struggle with my hearing, I listen really hard. When I speak to a friend, or work with a student, my focus is complete. In this very distracted world, attention feels precious and I try to share it when I am able. Practice helps. So most afternoons, Maggie, my ill-equipped (she’s got her own problems) emotional support dog and I, we walk our neighborhood and I practice that listening presence. Sometimes, my mind is preoccupied, angry and busy, but I do have a mantra now, a magic incantation that sometimes helps.

Hush y’all.

On good days my muscles will respond and soften, even my inner ears relax. I gather information from all my senses and paint the aural colors that I’ve been missing. In those moments, the world expands. Time slows; textures deepen.

*

Eventually, the spinning earth clicks into stillness. It feels like when an airplane is released from the grip of turbulence, and suddenly glides…You look at the person in the next seat and exhale with relief.

Let’s not take quiet skies for granted.

Hush y’all.

I suppose I must have drifted off because I’m surprised when the fluorescent lights flicker on as Scott returns, “How are you doing sweetie? Ready to get out of here?