Two hours to go.
A visit to the doctor is approaching and I’m not looking forward to it.
Two weeks ago I lumbered out of the bath to a very quiet house.
Has the world been destroyed, I wondered, because a house with a young lady in it is never quiet. There’s always some rumpus emanating from the battlefield that is her bedroom, like her mumbled obscenities into Facechat or Snapbook or whatever is this week’s latest must-have app. But it was very quiet. Until I noticed it was only quiet on my left side. Has the entire left side of the world been destroyed I wondered.
No, as it turned out, I was completely deaf in my left ear. Had I accidentally wedged the bath plug in my left ear? Had I left the loofah in my port orifice? Cursory examination disproved these theories.
Regardless, I went to work the next morning stone deaf in my left ear. That’s alright, I decided, London’s loud enough as it is. Until later that day, and then the night when I was pummeled by the most incredible pain in my head which didn’t let up for a single nano second.
I put up with this for nearly a week until I was finally able to see the doctor.
“Infection,” she declared with joy. “You’ve got about three tons of wax in your ear.”
“What? ” I demanded.
“Take these,” she bellowed. “Antibiotics. You’ll have to come back when the infection has gone. But you’ll have to…”
What?” I demanded again, already sick of the condescendingly smug grin on her face.
She began again, enunciating slowly and clearly as if she was imparting the knowledge of the world to a semi retarded cactus.
“Twice a day, every day, pump warm olive oil into your ears, and then next week come in and we’ll syringe it out.”
“With what, A pitchfork?”
Ushering me out and refusing to answer any more questions or gesticulations, she slammed the door in my face.
Well today is the day. In a couple of hours I’m going to have an industrial drain cleaner wedged into my head.
I’ll be back later, maybe.