October 10, 2009

The saga continues. . .

Yes, I slept 8 hours in my Massachusetts bed. Solidly. Hardly moving. But the towel over my pillow was spotted wth more gunk dripping from my ear, and I could feel that it was wet. I could hear nothing. I needed to see the doctor ASAP.

Heidi made the appointment for 9:45 a.m. and drove me over. The doctor cleaned up my ear, and said, “Yep–I can see through past your eardrum. No question about it. It has burst.” When I asked why there had been no pain and yet the previous two times the same thing had happened, it had felt as if an icepick had been driven into my skull through my ear, she shrugged. Later Heidi would say to me, “Why should you complain about the lack of pain?” Why indeed. Except it would have made an earlier diagnoses doable.

So, I am on antibiotic ear drops as well as the antibiotics themselves orally, an over-the-counter antihistimine, and am flying on a wing and a prayer. But I can hear a bit thanks to the doctor’s fiddling.

So I spent the afternoon paying bills, catching up with emails and snail mails, signing books that had been sent for my signature, etc., and whittling my way through the endless piles of things Heidi had lined up for me. (I think it’s actually going to take a full week’ to make a significant dent in this stuff.) And of course, in the middle of that, FedEx deposits the 370+ pages of galleys for EXCEPT THE QUEEN which needs returning before the 21st.

In the evening, the round of ear drops, pills, etc. being launched, I went off with Bob Marstall to Masha Rudman’s retirement party. I was to say a few words along with others. But at the dinner table (it was a potluck) both Bob and Heidi kept telling me to speak up. I was having more and more trouble hearing what they–or anyone else was saying. And by the time the speakers started, in a room filled with about 200 other folk, I could hear nothing. Oh, I could see them gesticulating and people around me laughed and applauded at intervals, but I could not hear a thing.

Oh, that’s not entirely accurate. I could hear Masha’s daughter Reva who was mistress of ceremonies and the only one to actually use the microphone.

Agony.

So, there I was deaf and jetlagged, and they had me down as the final speaker. That meant I had to sit through the entire evening without being able to hear any of it before it was my turn. Both Heidi and Bob assured me that the little talks were fascinating. And I am sure they were.

A difficult night, after, with nightmares and snuffles and dripping ear and little sleep.

Sorry for the two back-to-back whines, but given how much money, Dear Reader, you are paying for this service, consider yourself lucky that it isn’t more!

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