After multiple unsuccessful attempts at offing me over the latter half of my life, my body is beginning to get creative.

I had been struggling all weekend with an uncomfortable build-up of wax in both of my ears; everything sounded muffled as though I were wearing earplugs underwater trying to listen to a conversation three rooms away. By Sunday evening my left ear was becoming painful and I suspected infection was setting in, so I ventured to the local walk-in clinic. My husband had to accompany me to help communicate with the reception staff and the doctor, as while I could pick out some words, most were incomprehensible sounds. My speech was also beginning to become effected, compensating for the fact that my voice seemed to reverberate around my skull. Once I was signed in, all I had to do was wait.

After a couple of hours, a doctor called me through to his office. We followed him down the corridor, stopping outside of his office. The doctor then asked if I could get out of my wheelchair and leave it unattended in the corridor, walking into his office instead. While I can walk, being as unwell as I was, I was in no fit state to walk unsupported. I politely but firmly refused. It turned out that the reason for this unreasonable request was that his office was so cluttered and untidy that there was almost no room for me to manoeuvre, but other than denting an empty cardboard box I managed to get into the room unscathed.

Once inside, he took a look at my ears. The right ear was apparently just wax-filled, and the left ear was swollen shut so couldn’t be looked at. He prescribed generic antibiotics, refused to do anything about the pain I was in, and sent me on my way.

The following day I was back at work, taking antibiotics and feeling thoroughly unwell. I struggled to concentrate, and was quite unproductive, but it wasn’t until later that evening that I took a turn for the worse. The pain had gone from an impossible-to-ignore ache to feeling like someone was stabbing me repeatedly in the head. I’d had ear infections before but never felt pain like this; I knew something else was wrong.

We dialed the non-emergency healthcare line who had my husband perform several tests for meningitis, including feeling my neck, checking for rashes and bruises, and turning on the lights, bringing back uncomfortable memories of those tests from over a decade before. After ascertaining that I definitely did not have meningitis again, they informed us that an urgent care doctor would call us back in a few hours.

It being late in the day I got into my pyjamas and curled up in bed, falling into a sleep that felt more akin to passing out that anything restful. A little before 1 am, I was gently shaken awake. The urgent care doctor had called and wanted to see me in their clinic as soon as I could get there.

Not thinking, I pulled on my dressing gown instead of my jacket before leaving the flat, and so ended up driving my wheelchair across Leeds in the early hours of the morning in my nightclothes. The most disconcerting thing was that I was unable to hear the steady hum of the electric motors turning beneath me that accompanies me wherever I go, instead riding in apparent silence.

Shortly after arriving at the urgent care clinic, the doctor called me into his uncluttered room. He took the time to examine the situation properly, checking my blood pressure and heartrate, and looking closely at both ears. When he gently pressed the section of mastoid bone that can be felt directly behind your ears, I reeled from the pain despite steeling myself for it beforehand. He apologized and continued investigating as delicately as possible, as I gripped the arms of my wheelchair to the point where my knuckles showed white and grit my teeth.

Once done investigating the doctor sat down and let me recover before explaining the situation. Both ears were infected and the infection in my left ear was spreading to the mastoid; he didn’t need to tell me just how dangerous an infection of the bones in my head could be. Had it not been caught at that point, the situation had the potential to become life-threatening. He prescribed ear drops to reduce the swelling in ears which would in turn alleviate some of the pressure. He then prescribed different antibiotics, stating that he didn’t understand why I had been given such generic ones in the first place. Then he offered to send me to the hospital for intravenous antibiotics. Keen to avoid the hospital knowing that the risk of COVID infection was significant, I declined, but promised that if the pain didn’t dissipate within 48 hours I would go to the hospital for IV antibiotics.

The next couple of days were miserable. My sleep pattern had been disturbed by my excursion across Leeds, I still couldn’t hear, my balance was thrown off, and I was in pain. However, by Thursday the pain behind my left ear had indeed dissipated, and so I managed to avoid the hospital.

As the week progressed the infection cleared, but my ears remained completely blocked, forcing me to seek over-the-counter treatment. As I sat in bed on Sunday evening, curled up with a book, my right ear popped. About half an hour later, my left ear followed suit. Much to my relief, I could hear again.

I was back at work the next day but took things steadily, choosing to remain working at home until much later in the week. Even now, as I write this a week later, I am still feeling the effects of the infection. I am even more tired than I usually am, and the mild tinnitus I used to experience has become louder and more consistent. My ears still ache, albeit softly. It doesn’t matter.

What matters is that I’m still here to tell the story of how a seemingly simple and common ear-infection can become a potentially life-threatening medical issue.

Body: 0. Me: I’ve lost count.