Getting an Earful

Posted on August 31, 2013 under Storytelling with one comment

We take our senses for granted. Actually, we barely notice them until something happens to one of them. This occurred to me a few days ago after having minor surgery on my ear. Is there anything better than listening to a magnificent piece of music? Or gazing in wonder at beautifully manicured flower garden? Or smelling a freshly mown crop of hay? Or the divine taste of the first bite of a lemon meringue pie?

Growing up, I had a pretty keen sense of hearing. That is, until I got married. I have discussed this perplexing issue with my physician on numerous occasions. Seems that he has the same affliction. I can hear water dripping from a faucet three floors away in a hotel, yet my wife says I don’t listen. I can go to a symphony concert and hear every note being played by every instrument, yet my wife says I don’t listen. My clients at work have commented on my ability to listen yet my wife says that I don’t listen. Kind of reminds me of the Simon and Garfunkel tune, Sounds of Silence – “People hearing without listening”.

I come from a musical family and everybody has a pretty good ear for music. We all have, at some juncture, either played an instrument, sung or did both. Our parents were musical and when we were kids, our house, “39”, was the epicentre for house parties. Before the advent of television, when dinosaurs roamed the earth, house parties were the prime source of entertainment. We owned a piano and over the years our parents’ friends would congregate at our house to drink, smoke and sing. And speaking of the sense of smell is there anything more charming than the aroma of cigarette smoke? They all chain smoked and the living room would be filled with the acrid blue cloud.

Our own children have inherited the musical gene and like “39”, our house has always been a place where musicians are not only welcome but encouraged to come for jam sessions and family get- togethers. The kids, too, have a good ear for music.

Not surprisingly, I have come to the conclusion that hearing and listening are two distinct skills and in the presence of my wife, I only exhibit one of those. I would feel rather bad if I was the only man on the planet who has been accused of not listening to his wife. It seems to be a very common phenomenon and just another one of those mysterious differences between men and women. Maybe it has something to do with familiarity. After all, what single voice have you heard more in your lifetime than that of your spouse? Most times, that voice is soothing and familiar, like an old sweater or a pair of slippers. It is a voice that comforts, encourages, chastises and occasionally praises. And sometimes it is the voice that grates like fingernails running down a blackboard.

How and when do men arrive at that singular defining moment in their marriage when they start to tune out their wife’s voice? For some, it is moments after the wedding ceremony when the bride tosses her wedding flowers to a roomful of hysterical single women at the reception. For the rest of us, it just happens over time like erosion at the beach.

And so, I make my way to Amherst to have a small lesion removed from my ear. My brother is an ear, nose and throat specialist. While some question his dexterity with a hockey stick or golf club, his surgical skills are unparalleled. Just ask one of his recent patients, Vincent Van Gogh. Many years ago on an annual golf vacation, I commented on his golf swing after a particularly frustrating round of golf. “You look like you’re swinging a baseball bat.” “But I like baseball”, was his quick rejoinder.

I hadn’t thought of either of my ears lately. Have you? My wife suspects that nearly fifty years of golf with exposure to the sun, may have something to do with the growth behind my right ear. I have my own theory. In my youth, I was an altar boy. In our parish there was a priest who had suffered a debilitating brain injury and his ability to say mass was severely compromised. I was conscripted by the pastor to serve mass for this priest on a daily basis in a small chapel at the rear of the cathedral. This, I did, without argument. At the end of every mass, he would grab my ear and twist it. I guess this was his way of offering the sign of peace. After multiple twisting’s in my youth, I think my ear is now ready to fall off. I wonder if I will be trading in my glasses for contacts should the surgery fail.

I shouldn’t complain. I have a friend from the United States who inexplicably lost hearing in one of her ears and suffers from vertigo. That’s the bad news. Of course, when she wants to tune out her husband, which oddly enough happens from time to time with women, she simply has to tilt her head in another direction.

The procedure goes without incident, although the attending nurse in day surgery is in therapy undergoing counselling after listening to the verbal exchange during the operation. They don’t teach that in nursing schools. My brother suggested that I cover the ear while showering for the next few days and to avoid scratching the affected area of the ear.

If you saw me you would understand why I don’t own a shower cap. The afro that I proudly wore in the late ‘60’s looks like stubble in the field after a combine has passed over a crop of wheat. My wife can now buff her fingernails on my head and save herself the price of a manicure. The affected area of the ear had stitches and was slightly inflamed the morning after the procedure. After careful consideration my wife wrapped a compost bag around my head and captured the image on her Blackberry. The resulting picture looks like a cross between Gollum of Lord of the Rings and Mr. Condom head. I won’t win a beauty pageant with this picture in my portfolio. However, I emerged from the shower without undue harm to the ear.

It is day two and now I am detecting a slight itch behind the ear but my brother’s words are reverberating inside my head – “thou shalt not scratch”. I am not the only member of the family with a slightly warped sense of humour. My wife, recalling a surgery on one of our cats, thought a protective cone around my head would do the trick. Using brown wrapping paper, she tailored a perfect replica of an animal cone and placed it around my head. At last count, it had received 100,000 hits on YouTube.

I don’t think the operation will improve my listening skills when it comes to my wife. So I will continue to keep my nose to the grindstone and my ear to the ground.

Ear today. Gone tomorrow.