That last post was actually written on Monday night – I’ve been without WiFi since then.
On Tuesday morning, I woke up almost completely and utterly deaf in both ears. I could hear very low frequencies only – indeed, the dog food factory over 3km away could be clearly, well, felt through my outer skull bones, but very little else.
It was spooky in the extreme. I walked in silence. The dogs greeted me in silence. I could make out what Warren was saying if he was facing me, otherwise not.
So I was off to the doctor once more. A light syringing later, I can hear well enough to function.
But that should not have happened, not on the meds I’m on for Meniere’s. Seems this idiopathic disease is not only of unknown provenance, but it takes a highly erratic course as well – plus we have no idea how the meds work.
That was Tuesday morning.
This morning, Wednesday, my Twitter timeline is full to overflowing with the dire case of the Fake Sign Language Interpreter. It’s quite the talking-point: how on Earth could someone hire this man, who apparently doesn’t know sign language and was just waving his hands around , to interpret for deaf viewers at the Memorial Service Of The Century? Your guess is probably as good as mine, if you have any experience of the ruling ANC.
Slap bang in between these two events, I am reading in bed on Tuesday night. I am enacting a regular ritual, performed every few years, of re-reading the epic series of Dune novels. I am still on the early parts of the first story, and what I am reading this Tuesday night is this:
“Think you of the fact that a deaf person cannot hear. Then, what deafness may we not all possess? What senses do we lack that we cannot see and cannot hear another world all around us?”