Update on Dashed Hopes and Some Memory Jogging

Back from the clinic ... good lord ... 1 ½ hours of driving there, 2 hours at the clinic seeing the nurse practitioner, the doctor subbing for mine and the technician ... and sitting around the waiting room a lot in between, and then 1 ½ hours driving home. 

Five hours altogether  ... but they sent me home with my hearing and thinking processes intact.  My ear was swooshed out with very warm water and I was told to treat both ears with oil twice a week for the rest of my life.  Because I thought it was likely swimmer's ear I had been drying the wax out with aluminum drops and making things worse rather than better.  The difference in my hearing  was not as startling or sudden as I thought it would be.  You know I kind of expected a giant pop as the plug loosened and jumped out of the canal ... but no ... nothing nearly as dramatic, although I did feel woozy and had to be helped to a chair.  The technician said it was a common reaction.  After all she had just sent my balance centre into a merry go round spin.  At any rate, my little inflamed drum became visible and was able to vibrate again.  I regained my balance and my hearing ... and with them my ability to think.

One thing I noticed when I got home was that the dehumidifier makes a very loud noise ... and those machines across the lake were making me want to tell Kenya to move over and make room for me under the boiler and the water tank!

Imagine how awful it must be for a creature with super sensitive hearing! 

At the best of times my hearing is just so-so.  I was born in the era before medicare and instead of getting a prescription for antibiotics my father blew warm breath in my ear when I had an earache ... and I had lots of them until I had my tonsils and adenoids removed when I was seven. 

My older kids were also pre-medicare kids, but I remembered being sick and made sure that they were looked after by a doctor ... and that they received antibiotics rather than being subjected to my breathing in their inflamed and aching ears or hoping that bronchial pneumonia would heal itself.. 

My tonsillectomy took place on the kitchen table in my foster home with my foster mother administering the ether.  I was horribly nauseated and had a blood clot in my throat which had to be removed ... but a brand new black English sidewalk bicycle leaned against the bedroom wall encouraging me to get well quickly.

My children went to the hospital for their operations., and were treated much younger.  They were too young for bikes, but I couldn't afford bikes anyway.  Instead I took a bus to the hospital and brought single rose buds ... and special cuddly toys.

Funny I can remember the rosebuds but I can't remember how I managed to pay for those doctor's visits, the antibiotics I seemed to have to buy weekly, or the surgeries and hospital time. 

I was making $1800 a year.  To give you an idea of just how little that was, someone in middle management was making $18000 at that time.  I guess you just do it when you are a single parent and you don't have a choice.