Dating for the hearing impaired updating rogers nokia 7510
Without a word I stood and rushed out of the office and into a cab. Three days later, I was propped up against pillows, connected to an IV.
If I tilted even slightly, the room spun, dizzying lights forced my eyes to stay squeezed shut.
My skull was scanned and screened from every angle. I was seated in a small, padded room, a set of headphones covering both ears.“Repeat after me,” said a toothy brunette from behind tinted glass. ” I begged for more information.“It’s an anomaly, just one of those things,” he said rubbing his hands together. My diagnosis was more of a description: sudden hearing loss.
His arms and legs were tangled in mine, our first night together. I felt free and bold and wildly unguarded, until his rough voice scratched against my ear. It wasn’t what he’d said that murdered my mood but that I couldn’t hear it. He took my silence as lack of interest, and I didn’t correct him.
Confessions of maladies should be a clothed conversation, something I’d divulge eventually … Standing at 5-foot-8, I appeared willowy and well dressed; he probably noticed my Irish eyes first and then studied their contrast to my bronze Colombian skin.
This man, with everyone else, assumed that I was a healthy young woman. There was no wheelchair, no trained animal by my side. But at 24, I had gone from a feisty, uninhibited, outspoken yogini to a statistic. I’d been sitting in my midtown office when it started, typing another day away in my job as an assistant (read: glorified coffee fetcher).
A harsh ringing pierced my ears so suddenly that I flinched and contemplated diving under my desk.
A co-worker walked by slowly, assessing my hunched position.“What that?
A doctor sat on the edge of my bed and compared hearing to the propellers of a plane.
If one propeller went out, the plane lost its balance and would begin to spin out of control. When the doctor came in that night, his smile was misleading.
By the end of his crash course in vertigo, I was seeing double. “Pencil,” I repeated proudly.“Book.”I echoed each word, reassured that my right ear was still alive.“Now I will use the left headphone,” she warned. “Well, it seems you didn’t suffer blunt trauma, there’s no trace of a virus or a budding tumor.
Three different nurses in three different washed-out cartoon scrubs came to my room to prick me, demanding vials of blood. I took a deep breath and listened, but could only hear the shrill buzzing like an obnoxious fly. That’s the good news.” He shrugged and then admitted he had no idea what the cause was, but he was certain it was irreversible.“How could that be? “It sometimes helps with tinnitus, which is what we call that god-awful ringing you can’t get rid of,” he said.
I told myself not to overreact (a trait I get from my mother, who believes every headache is a brain tumor, every sneeze a pneumonia).
But as the ringing filled my head, I knew something wasn’t right.