Thoughts on the Swing

Rubber Neck

So it turns out for the last week or two, I’ve had an ear infection.  Trust me, it’s not that I’m a tough guy that can handle pain or that I only pay attention to the pain that really matters.  It is much more likely that I am too stupid to know the difference. 

It’s like when you’re driving the hi-way and there is a jam caused by an accident, exacerbated by rubber-neckers.  The pain and impatience you feel is not because of the accident, but because of the people who have to gawk before they move on.  So I guess when it comes to an ear infection, as long as there is nothing to look at, it’s all too easy to keep moving; even though, day by day, you’re being tailgated; encouraged to move into the slower lanes. 

And yet whatever lane I’m in I hate rubberneckers. 

So the next thing you know after a mercifully short but intensely painful plane ride I finally sacrificed 3 hours of my life in an urgent care clinic.  The ultimate traffic jam. 

The Doc came in and asked me 40 questions for which I may have scored 40 percent.   Then finally, she looked in my ears.  She stepped back from me, smiled and proclaimed…

“Ok, that left ear is clean as a whistle but I can’t see anything but ugly in that right ear.  I’m going to send someone in here to clean that out.”  She turned and exited the room.  I half thought she had just taken too much pleasure in that combination of a statement, and subsequent exit.

But then came Molly. 

Molly, the MA, smiled pleasantly, attached a hose to a big spray gun thing and said “I’m gonna squirt this water into your ear and if it hurts, or if you feel dizzy, or nauseous, please, please, please let me know.” 

“Can I just say that now and avoid all this?” I quipped in a fatalistic stupor.

She must have blasted 3 quarts of water into my ear before she could see my eardrum. 

Skaa-woooshi-ga, Skaa-woooshi-ga, Skaa-woooshi-ga…

Which oddly sounds to the recipient like “There’s a drill in my head, there’s a drill in my head, there’s a drill in my head.”

As each piece of goo came out she would flick at it with her hyper-extended tweezers into a little ear-mold bucket, which she made me hold, and then she would ask me if I wanted to look. 

Let’s face it, I was that rubbernecker at a freeway accident.  
I couldn’t help it. 
I wanted to look.

Skaa-woooshi-ga, Skaa-woooshi-ga, Skaa-woooshi-ga…

Finally, she said there was one last chunk sticking like a barnacle to the membrane of my eardrum. By now I’m trying not to cry.  In fact, by this time, with each pull of the trigger on her water gun I was seeing newspaper taxies appearing on the shore. 

Skaa-woooshi-ga, Skaa-woooshi-ga, Skaa-woooshi-gaaas PING.,,


Molly took her hyper-extended tweezers and plucked the waxy faced alien from the edge of my ear canal.

“You want to look?” She asked. 

It was the nasty thing that had been holding me up. 

I looked.

db 2019

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