Back in the tube.

My friends, those who have been around this blog for five years or more -- you with the patience of Job, the benevolence of St. Francis, and the breakfast of champions -- may recall that I suffered a moderate hearing loss in one ear in 2018. Many tests were taken, including shoving ol' Fred partly into the MRI tube, and some treatments were used, including an injection of corticosteroids in the eardrum, which is half as much fun as you'd think. 

Alas, no cause was found for my problem, and over the next five years -- while the world started to go to hell -- I seemed to get better. I barely noticed the problem, and it actually seemed to have improved. 

And then this summer it started to seem worse again. 

I was hoping it was a plain ol' wax blockage or a plain ol' ear infection. My annualish (because I don't get there every year) physical was coming up, so I figured I'd ask the doc to check. He thought he saw fluid but no infection, and recommended I try Flonase. Which didn't even help with the seasonal allergies, tell you the truth, let alone my hearing. 

So, back to the ENT, and then back to the tube. 

So what was the result? Beats me. I was given a CD of the images, and as much as I like to play doctor (I mean when I'm doing fact-checking work, Stiiv), I had no idea what I was seeing. 

Yeah, they took a scan of my head and found nothing, hyuk hyuk. By that I mean there was no big zombie-colored mass and an arrow saying TUMOR HERE. I'll have to wait for the radiologist's report, and will update you then. I don't see the ENT until the end of the month. 

The last time this happened I was annoyed that the doctor I went to at the time just gave up. What caused it? Don't know! Oh, well! We'd all prefer a Dr. House -- without the attitude -- who won't give up until the diagnosis is made. But that's not reality. Some things can't be diagnosed without expensive and/or invasive procedures, and if there's no life at stake, it's just not worth it. Sometimes -- and it's hard to accept this in the 21st century -- no diagnosis can be made. The human body is still weird and mysterious. My other ear was working all right. So, let's see what happens. 

Well, what happened was, five years and one pandemic and one "fortified" election and two-going-on-three impeachments and St. George Floyd and men playing women's sports and runaway inflation and a genuine threat of nuclear war later, here I am again, and I can only hope I'm doing better than every other dad blasted thing out there is. Will let you know. 

Out of tune.

After hearing that Auto-Tune would correct his voice, Joe decided to use it everywhere.

SHUT UP.

There is a particular sound I have always hated. Ever since I was just a wee Fred I remember it making my flesh crawl. It makes me angry because it irritates me so much. It's not something that bothers many other people. Not like fingernails on a blackboard. Never had a problem with that.

Whether a sound irritates a lot of us or just you, it's called misophonia. I just found out about that yesterday, thanks to the always-interesting Mental Floss.

This stuff has been studied a lot. Newcastle University tested many irritating sounds to find out which were the most irritating:

There are all pretty bad. Two that I'm surprised are not in the top ten, however, are a dental drill and someone eating noisily. Those drive me nuts.

If the dentist's drill sounded like a cello, I would not mind going to see him, despite the pain and the floss-shaming and the money.

I used to work near a guy who, like me, ate at his desk a lot. I've always been a pretty quiet eater. It's the one thing that the ladies liked about me. Even women who dumped me were probably thinking, "I'll never find another man who eats as quietly as Fred does." But the guy at the desk next to mine was the loudest, slobberingest, slurpingest, lip-smackingest slob I've ever heard. He was a nice guy and funny, and I enjoyed talking with him, but when he'd come back to his desk with a paper bag I would cringe. I was always surprised when people invited him to lunch. Don't do it, you FOOLS! I wanted to cry. Or bring earplugs.

In an earlier piece on misophonia, Mental Floss explained that it was unclear whether the phenomenon was distinct or a part of another mental illness. I have to wonder about that. So many people get really distressed by certain annoying sounds that you'd think it has to be more widespread than even a fairly common mental illness like depression. Perhaps the degree of annoyance is the key, though. Like, if you get annoyed by chalk squeaking on a blackboard you're normal, but if you take it personally, you're nuts.

Should I divulge what sound makes me crazy? I don't go full Banner on it, but it does make me want to scream, and if I'm alone in the car with the radio on and I hear it in a beer commercial, oh I will scream.

It's the sound of liquid being poured into a glass. Some people find it appealing, which makes the commercials worse, because they draw that sound out to make it alluring. I hate it like poison. No idea why. I don't think I was traumatized by a glass of water as a child. I don't mind waterfalls and streams and showers. But pour that water in a glass, and brother, you may have a fight on your hands.

Fortunately it's a sound that doesn't last long. I read that some people get all wacky at the sound of rain. That would be a bad thing.