Me, Undone

I lost hearing in my right ear--the culprit, wearing clay earplugs to bed. After several hours of irrigation, prodding and silent tears I resigned to my fate—my ear was completely blocked. For awhile, my little “condition” was a sweet blessing. It fed my isolationist tendencies. I didn’t have to consciously block people out—I really couldn’t hear them. I retreated into my innermost self. The more contact I lost with the outer world, the more conscious I became of my body—my heartbeat, my breathing, the sound of my voice, for it is my inner voice that I most prefer. My center shifted. After awhile I started thinking that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to be deaf in one ear. I mean, look at the great artists of our time—Alice Walker is blind in one eye, Vincent Van Gogh lost his ear, Sylvia Plath was manic depressive. Maybe my physical impairment would give birth to creativity or a new way of thinking. Unfortunately, acceptance of my partial deafness faded when I walked out into the worl