t first it was just in my right ear. It gets really loud for a while, almost unbearably so for a few days. But it seemed like more of an uncontrolled and panicked vibration in the side of my head. the sound aspect seemed to be secondary, just the result of physics. I really didn't seem to be hearing anything other than the vibration itself. It was as if my eardrum was having a massive physical seizure. The first time was about eight months ago, I think. But it's still happening. Eventually, it does die down, for a few days at a time. It never goes completely away, but it seems to 'retreat' to somewhere deeper. Maybe it never really dies down at all, but just goes some place more insulated where the sound is muffled to the point where I can almost ignore it? And sometimes it moves over to my left ear and gets just as painful and loud and incessant there as it is on the right side. But at the times when it is just barely but continuously audible, it stays right in the middle of my head, and lingers there for days like a tickle in the back of my throat that is not quite bad enough to make me gag and cough, but which I am still constantly aware of. I recently gave up on going to doctors, they were never able to tell me anything. "A profession of rogues and charlatans", as a favorite movie character once described them. Every last one of them. They know no more about us now than they did 100 years ago, at least not in any practical and usable sense. On my last doctors visit I thought we were finally getting somewhere. This was with Doctor Rourke, an amazingly bland fellow in late middle age, who, despite his qualifications, never betrayed a single sign of professional or personal interest or fascination with his job whatsoever. He seemed instead to be very bored with and uninspired by everything around him. But he did approach my problem in a way that differed considerably from the other "rogues and charlatans" I had seen. He brought out a series of devices that were long, thin, and flexible, the longest being about seven inches in length. They all had a handle or grip area at one end, while the opposite and narrower end culminated in some sort of tool or attachment. They were all different. I think there were about six or seven different ones. My head was placed in what I can only describe as a medical bench vice, certainly costing $20,000 more than a standard bench vice yet not a bit more comfortable. Then, with the aid of some small focused flashlights these tools were slowly inserted, one by one, starting with the shorter ones, into my ear. The doctor seemed as bored as ever, until one of his instruments hit an obstacle that moved. I heard a scurrying sound. I felt it move. I felt it hide. I know he heard it, too. I know that it registered with him somehow through his probe. That bored expression on his Olive Garden fattened face must have momentarily became one of shock. I could tell that by the look on the face of the nurse assistant in front of me who had been handing him tools. And just a few seconds later, the procedure was deemed to be over, and he declared that there was nothing physically wrong with me. I tried to talk to him, to involve the nurse whose startled expression had given it all away. I implored them. I begged. I cried. And I screamed. I didn't know what else to do. And I was soon removed forcibly from the building. I sat there in the parking lot. And nothing had changed. And I still don't know what to do.
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