WHAT

I’m defective.

For the last 18 months or so, my left ear has felt clogged. But instead of just muffled sounds, I started hearing a high-pitched buzz. ALL. OF. THE. DAMN. TIME. It’s now become almost impossible to understand conversations in public places, especially if there is any sort of background noise (I’m looking at you, B-Dubs).

It’s embarrassing.

And exhausting.

And depressing.

Multiple audiologists confirmed I have tinnitus and significant hearing loss in my left ear. A neurotologist then sent me in for a brain MRI that helped rule out a bunch of scary possibilities. This is good news for you – there’s no rush to bring over any sympathy cookies or start a GoFundMe account or let me skip ahead of you in line at Starbucks. It’s slightly less good news for me because I’m still stuck with all the symptoms and don’t feel any closer to a proper diagnosis.

My brain is overstimulated from the unexpected sensory variations. During the day, it expends itself keeping us balanced and scanning for rogue circular saws. At night, it wakes us up to swat away nonexistent mosquitos. The two of us are barely on speaking terms these days.

The doctors say my symptoms are likely permanent and may worsen over time. Hopefully they’re just being jerks. If not, my options aren’t great. Surgery is high risk with uncertain rewards and hearing aids often amplify tinnitus. I’ll know more in a few months. Until then, they suggested I start “advocating for my listening needs” by asking people to speak more clearly and to avoid large group conversations. I’m pretty sure this medically bans me from work meetings. On the downside, they also said hearing loss could impede my ability to sense approaching dangers like cars and mountain lions which, in turn, could impede my ability to enjoy outdoor activities like bicycling and not getting eaten by mountain lions.

For me, the worst part isn’t losing hearing in my left ear; it’s knowing that even if I go deaf, I’ll never escape the incessant buzzing. The inside of my head has always been a bit raucous, but I’ve been able to find solace on the trails and high summits.

Not anymore.

Regardless of how fast I run or how far I bike or how high I climb, my brain will continue to function like a badly tuned radio, resonating phantom static for the rest of my days. I’m trying to not hyperfocus on that and instead appreciate the fact I can still hear my grandchildren laugh and that my wife is contractually obligated to love me in sickness and in health. Also, I have a very good friend who has been living with symptoms worse than mine for years and has not once been eaten by a mountain lion.

And that gives me hope.