On July 21st I had a Tympanoplasty. No, it’s not one of those fancy mixed drinks they were serving in Cleveland after Trump accepted the Republican nomination. Nor is it a Southern specialty made from roadkill armadillo, smothered in thyme and served in your Mama’s favorite Season-Serve® Tupperware container.
Unfortunately, Tympanoplasty is a twelve-thousand dollar word for a medical procedure in which they pretty much detach your ear from the side of your head, graft a patch of tissue over your eardrum, and sew your ear back on. Afterwards, you get to wear a lovely cup, which I modeled for in this photo.
If you are new to Friday Flash Fiction, the Earschplittenloudenboomer, who has been known to staple her own fingers to keyboard to increase productive output is ThumbelinaWisoff-Fields. To learn how to participate in this weekly exercise in madness, head over to her blog for instructions. To view the writers on a wire in FFF Hollywood Squares Authors Block click here.
“Sorry, Ma’am, I can’t serve you.”
“Whaddya mean? I just got here.”
“Well, I’m sure it seems that way. Time really flies when you’re having fun.”
“Who said I was having fun?”
“Now, now . . . don’t get testy. You can stay until you sober up—as long as you behave yourself.”
“Sober up? I haven’t ordered yet.”
“Ma’am, you were fuzzy-headed the moment you walked in. Now, the entire room is blurry and starting to spin. You’re clearly intoxicated.”
“Who is this guy?”
“That’s Joe,” said the waitress. “He always stops in for a few drinks before work.”
“What’s he do?”
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This is the blog of a woman who is seriously on the edge and I mean right ON the edge…no, not there… just a little bit further… further than that…no, further still…just a tiny bit more… just move slightly to the right a little…no, that’s too much…just move a tad to the left…that’s right, just there…now you’ve moved too far to the left… Damn, what part of the ‘on the edge’ do you not understand? Oh, and her matricidal boy genius, come devil spawn.
Or the three people I guilted into reading this blog, whatever.
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I’m backing out of the room slowly. None for me thank you. I certainly don’t want what he’s having. How did you know I stapled my fingers to the keyboard??? What’s the matter with that?
You caught me off guard with your edit of the photo prompt. Things are getting fuzzy here, too. I’m clearly intoxicated. Thanks for playing cup your ear for the team. Hope it’s all better now.
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I don’t think anyone would ever complete a book (let alone 3) without the aid of a stapler or super-glue. According to my friends in the medical profession, that’s a no-brainer.
We won’t know if the surgery will improve my hearing from several more weeks, so you may want to send all your messages to me in ALL CAPS for a bit longer.
For her, one glass of the vino is all it takes. “There is no film … I am LIVE.”
It’s times like that when names are very important! I would make sure I remembered his, just in case I needed surgery at some point in time……I would make the X by his name in bold print.
You want to dry a line right through his name–just to be safe.
NICE ONE, RUSSELL! 🙂 Hope your surgery was successful.
Me too. It was performed before 10 am. The bar wasn’t open yet. 🙂
Hi Russell – I hope your tympanoplasty works. My OH has been deaf since his National Service in 1956 and there was nothing the surgeons could do, though they tried. The shield I wore after my cataract op looked similar to yours – bloody uncomfortable things to sleep in, aren’t they?
Thanks for the well-wishes, Liz. I only had to wear the cup for 24 hours, so it wasn’t too bad. Most of the soreness has left and I have a follow-up visit scheduled for August 12th.
We’re hoping my hearing returns, and is even better, than before my accident.
neurosurgeons got it made. they tend to bury their mistakes. 🙂
Yeah, I think a lot of doctors bury their mistakes. It keeps the undertakers busy.
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Best punchline ever. 😀 I hope all goes well with your ear. Better fuzzy ear than fuzzy sight, sometimes having what you hear fuzzied may actually keep you sane.
I’m not so sure. You should hear some of our conversations. Connie says one thing and I interpret another. Sometimes it’s funny, sometimes it’s pathetic. I’m praying the surgery will fix the problem.
Of course, there are somethings I don’t what to hear, in which cases no hearing is a blessing.
When my ex would become intoxicated I always said his hearing was slurred. And he thought I made that up!
Good luck with your ear. Hope you get the results they promised.
When you’re intoxicated everything becomes slurred (or blurred).
Thanks for the good wishes. We are definitely hoping for positive results.
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Actually I heard you had some additionally surgery while you were in the hospital. Good luck! I’m scheduled next week.
Yes, but I wasn’t going to brag about the enlargement here. I figured people could read about that in the tabloids.
Hope yours goes well. Are they doing the hair transplant at the same time?
Old Joe. Always exspeeding the seed limit. Well, there are worse things, I suppose.
Hey, in all seriousness, I’m glad it seemed to go well. I thought, though, a cochlear implant would be best for hearing, but I’m not a doctor, just when I have to be for a story. 😀
All the best and keep me posted on the progress. You’ll be fine, I KNOW you will. Keep a-goin’, pal, and we’ll see you soon. All the best.
With a cochlear implant, your brain practically has to re-learn how to process the sounds to form words. According to what I read, you’re better off doing both ears instead of just one.
My brain is mixed up enough as it is, without confusing it any further.
I also hope your surgery was successful. A doctor had to puncture my eardrum once when I was six because of infection. No anesthetic or antibiotics in the late 40’s. I sat in a chair in the doctor’s inner office. I was alergic to the sulfa given in the hospital for infection then. I hope your hearing improves. You younger folks heal faster. I love your blurry view of the lady barkeeper. Funny stuff, Russell. 😀 — Suzanne
Well, I’m not young enough to heal too fast. I am hoping and praying for positive results.
Well some of us live from ear to ear, hope they are looking after you well in your padded cell, er hospital room.
And some of us don’t have much between the ears. You’d think in my case, there would at least be an echo.
Ah, so that picture of you in with the cup over your year wasn’t just a stunt. Hazard of the trade–the funny man business, I mean–don’t know what’s serious and what isn’t. As I age, I find myself asking “what?” a lot more often because people around me do not articulate their words very very well. When they repeat themselves, I find myself asking “what the whoo-ha?” I need to rethink asking the first question. I should have reveled in blissful quasi-silence. Did you ever wonder if part of wisdom come from not hearing a lot of the insanity zinging around you?
Great FF story, Russ, but I don’t get all the blurry or fuzzy references. I thought the picture was as sharp as an obsessive-compulsive, perfectionist’s mechanical pencil. (Was that redundant?) All my photos come out looking exactly that cear and focused. I don’t get it. 😉