When I was 22, I went to see a GWAR show at Hammerjacks on Halloween evening. For the uninitiated, GWAR is more of a theatrical experience than just a concert: highlights include being hosed down with fake blood, mid-set skits featuring simulated sex and murder, and pounding thrash riffs played by men on platform heels in full-body foam costumes. I was no stranger to loud music by this time; I’d seen a hundred shows by this point, in venues large and small, through professional sound installations and thrift-store PA systems. But the sound guy at Hammerjacks that evening just said fuck it, maxed all the levels on the board, and went outside to smoke a joint. The sound was so loud it vibrated my testicles. I felt the high frequencies in my spleen. That said, the show was a lot of fun and I walked out into the crisp evening with fake blood steaming off my head and a ringing in my ears. That ringing stayed with me as I fell asleep and was gone by morning.
These days that ringing doesn’t go away. Most of the time I’m not aware of it, actually. It’s been a slow progression over the last couple of years, not unlike my eyesight, where I started noticing that I had to hold stuff further away in order to see it and suddenly realized it was time for reading glasses. This sound isn’t even a ringing. it’s a high-frequency whine that sits somewhere behind my ears, blocking out other sounds in that range. Again, I don’t notice it for most of the day, but laying in bed in a quiet house, it’s hard to ignore.
With all the stuff I’ve been working on for the past couple of years, I’ve actually been very conscious of my hearing and my eyesight. My first set of progressives was actually a set of safety glasses, which were much cheaper than a pair of normal glasses. I used those to test out whether I could stand them, and found them smooth and helpful enough to pull the trigger on everyday frames. Where I used to run grinders and saws without any ear protection in my 20’s, I’ve had got three sets of earmuffs rotating in the garage since 2010. Anytime I’m sanding or cutting, I’m careful to wear them. And I wear iPods with noise cancellation on and the sound as low as I can make it almost constantly. But time is clearly catching up with me, as my hairline will testify.
I got together with my Scout buddies a couple of weeks ago. I usually bring donuts, and someone else will bring coffee, and we sit and chat for a little bit before we get started. It’s funny how we spend more and more time talking about getting older—our various aches and pains, complaining about the weather, commiserating about expensive home repairs, or how we don’t have time to get to fun truck stuff. I’d offhandedly mentioned the ringing in my ears and my friend Bennett immediately nodded his understanding. He told me he’s been battling the same thing, and has read about a promising method of treating it—electrical pulses on the back of the tongue to stimulate the trigeminal and auditory nerves. It doesn’t cure tinnitus, but apparently reprograms the brain to tune out the sound. The FDA has approved the first devices for this treatment, and I’m curious to see when it’ll be available—and if my insurance will cover it.
In the meantime, I’ll live with the whine in my ears and my lousier eyesight and thinning hair, and be thankful I’m still upright and healthy.