As you may recall, last Summer, I landed a job at HaHa's For HooHas, largely due to a piece I submitted that outted my husband's hemorrhoid. Turns out, "going viral" is a thing, and it takes several weeks for that level of publicity to die down. But it does die down.
Then a few days ago, my employer asked if I'd be willing to join her on a podcast. After she explained what a podcast is, (hey, I'm old), I agreed. My wonderful, awesome, totally supportive husband, set up a Skype account for me, and even loaned me his super cool x-box headphones complete with microphone to use for the event. Then he asked, "So, what are you guys gonna talk about?"
Ummm...she mentioned...maybe...the possibility of...your hemorrhoid?
Honestly, has a hemorrhoid ever done so much for one person's career? I think not. So let's focus on the bigger picture here.
He went along with it like a champ, the podcast was a blast, I made sure to mention a couple of my own DIY home remedy disasters to try to keep it even, and I think it went well, even though I'll probably never listen to it for fear the sound of my own voice might silence me forever. But alas, his hemorrhoid is a focal point of conversations with people again, and he took the bullet because he loves me, so because I love him, I'm indebted to his selflessness and will try to be a little more out there with my stuff, too.
Which brings me to last week. My left ear got clogged. It didn't hurt. It just felt full and I couldn't hear anything out of it. So something had to be in there. Odds were, it was wax, but my mind decided it was a spider laying a nest of eggs.
Ron told me to go to the doctor. I agree, that would've been the simplest thing to do. But if you listened to the podcast and/or know my history involving peaches 'n' cream yogurt and a garlic clove, you know I'm not one to go to the doctor before trying my own sick experiments at home first.
Two days of clogged ear later, Ron came home from work to find me leaning over the bathtub with the shower head pressed against my ear and he literally forced me to urgent care, where he dropped me off at the door to park, and I walked in furious, with the left side of my hair plastered against my head and still dripping water.
The receptionist looked me over and then slowly asked, "How are you today?" I said, "Fine" even though nothing about my situation appeared fine, and is anyone whose ever been forced into an urgent care really fine? But I thought I was fine, so that's the answer she got. Then she tried a different approach.
"What brings you in to see us this evening?"
"Anything else?" (I now know what it feels like to be spoken to like a mental ward patient.)
"My ear's kinda clogged." (Even though I'm sure it appeared that whatever clogged it was currently dripping from my head.)
And then I took a seat in the waiting area.
Ron came in and the receptionist said to him, "We see this a lot, you know."
He looked over at me and then back at her and said, "You've gotta be kidding me."
She said, "Oh, not that", looking over at my hair and then whispered, "Clogged ears."
Um, hellooo, I can hear you with my one good ear, jerks.
We were called back to a room where the nurse said, "You didn't stick a q-tip down there, did you?"
Ron looked at me and said, "Tell her."
I took a deep breath.
"A q-tip, bobby pins, a car key, tweezers, rubbing alcohol, my daughter's expired prescription ear drops, the shower head..."
She interrupted me, covered her ears, and said, "Good Lord, stop telling me this!"
Um, I'm not the one who asked.
Two hours later, I had both of my ears professionally irrigated and a 10 day supply of amoxicillin for a pretty severe middle ear infection, although I can't imagine how that happened. We arrived home, and I thanked him for not lecturing me...and for not being a writer. He said, "No, I'll leave that to you." Message received.
So here we are. And the story's been told.
Now to my wonderful husband,
These 23 years have been an adventure full of ups, downs, twists, turns, happiness, and tears...but most of all, laughter. I can't imagine taking this ride through life with anyone else. And who knows, maybe one of these years, we'll stop doing stupid sh**...but then I'll be out of a job, so let's hope it never comes to that.
Here's to the fun year ahead toward 24.
I love you...
...aaaaaand here's a box of Schuler's chocolate crème-filled donuts for your trouble.
Maybe you can put your hemorrhoid behind you now.