Where's My Icepick?

Friends, you may have to speak up a little. I'm having trouble with one of my ears (again).

While I was growing up, my mother would sometimes amuse us by imitating the doctor who told her, while he was trying to examine her ear canal, "Mrs. K, you have very torturous ear canals!"

Now, in the light of retrospect, not so funny.

'Cause apparently I inherited said canal structure, and now one or the other of my ears periodically gets so gunked up that my hearing is actually impaired.

The good news? This time it's not my phone ear. (T heard this and said, "You have a phone ear?" "Ye-eess," I said, thinking, duh. "You mean you use the same ear all the time when you're talking on the phone?" she marveled. "You mean you DON'T?" was the only thing I could say. Takes all kinds.)

Anyway, I've tried all the over-the-counter stuff, and, not surprisingly, none of it seems to do the trick. My primary care physician does a great job of addressing the problem, but she's on vacation and booked solid on Monday, her first day back, which means I'm going to be asking people to repeat themselves and just generally feeling crabby all the way until Tuesday.

I'm trying to think of it as an opportunity to reflect on how temporary our able-bodied status is. But mostly what I want is to jam an ice pick in my ear!