Skip to main content

On Ear Wax

 Something made me furious this year. It was the announcement that approximately "ten percent" of people receiving the COVID vaccine would experience side effects.


I'm all for the COVID vaccine. It has changed my life. I would urge everyone to get it. (A great thing, if you're a new parent, is that the trip to the COVID shot booth requires a lengthy solo drive, which means you can listen to the radio, e.g. an interview with Bill de Blasio about shady recycling practices, and no one will be crying in the back seat. This is like a tropical beach vacation.)

But: only "ten percent" of cases involve side effects? Literally everyone I've talked to experienced side effects from the COVID vaccine. Everyone. The one exception I can think of is a Tweet from Stephen King's son, the horror novelist Joe Hill. (I don't know Joe Hill.) On Twitter, Joe Hill maintains that he felt nothing after the COVID vaccine.

I write all this because I had an exasperating experience, recently, with ear wax. Stay with me. Long ago, I abandoned Q tips, because so many hushed doctor-voices said that Q tips could destroy you. Q tips could ruin your life! Ear wax is a wonderful thing! I thus allowed ear wax to build up, and build up, and build up--until, recently, I lost my hearing in both ears.

The online world has some ideas and warnings about this phenomenon. Use oil drops. Use an irrigation system. Flood your ears with soapy shower-water. Everyone says: Don't use a Q tip. If you use a Q tip at this point, you may just "behead" your wax plug, driving the gross wax "body" deeper into your ear canal, making your problem worse.

Nothing I tried seemed to work--literally for weeks. I avoided the ENT because recently, each time I've had a medical issue, I've found myself waiting long past the appointment time to speak to a professional, and there is never even a half-hearted excuse or explanation. I know people are people, and life gets busy, but not one sentence to signal "I realize you, too, are a human with a schedule"--? This drives me insane. It takes me to Peak-Larry-David levels of insanity. (Also, at my core, I just couldn't accept that ear wax would require a trip to a doctor.)

Eventually, somehow, the problem resolved itself. And here's what I learned. Q tips are not the devil. If you don't maul yourself--in Hannah Horvath style--then you're absolutely entitled to stick a Q tip in your ear, after a shower, now and then, so that a plug can't form. (Once the plug is there, you're out of luck and might just need to wait several weeks, as I did.)

Act, don't react. If you see something, say something. Clear eyes, full hearts, can't lose.

And when someone tells you that only ten percent of people experienced side effects from the COVID vaccine, ask for citations. Otherwise: I have a bridge I'd like to sell you.

I need to go make a date with my Q tip.
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...
3 comments
Read more

Raymond Carver: "What's in Alaska?"

Outside, Mary held Jack's arm and walked with her head down. They moved slowly on the sidewalk. He listened to the scuffing sounds her shoes made. He heard the sharp and separate sound of a dog barking and above that a murmuring of very distant traffic.  She raised her head. "When we get home, Jack, I want to be fucked, talked to, diverted. Divert me, Jack. I need to be diverted tonight." She tightened her hold on his arm. He could feel the dampness in that shoe. He unlocked the door and flipped the light. "Come to bed," she said. "I'm coming," he said. He went to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water. He turned off the living-room light and felt his way along the wall into the bedroom. "Jack!" she yelled. "Jack!" "Jesus Christ, it's me!" he said. "I'm trying to get the light on." He found the lamp, and she sat up in bed. Her eyes were bright. He pulled the stem on the alarm and b...
1 comment
Read more

My Favorite Pop Song

  One thing I admire about Prince is his weirdly pretentious verses: Dream, if you can, a courtyard-- An ocean of violets in bloom. Also: Touch, if you will, my stomach. Feel how it trembles inside. No one else writes like this. Did people try to shoot down these choices? Did a producer say, "We'd like to rethink this one... Touch, if you will, my stomach...."  I can't help but wonder. But it's the chorus that makes this a classic. It's direct and universal--and it ends with that bizarre flourish, the allusion to "the crying doves." (Prince's song was number one in America for quite a while; it defeated Bruce Springsteen's "Dancing in the Dark.") How can you just leave me standing-- Alone in a world that's so cold? Maybe I'm just too demanding. Maybe I'm just like my father--too bold. Maybe you're just like my mother; She's never satisfied. Why do we scream at each other? This is what it sounds like when doves cr...
Post a Comment
Read more