My Hearing Loss Story
I wasn't sure if or when I would talk about this, but several years ago, in August, my life changed. Suddenly, I completely lost hearing in my left ear and developed a persistent ringing sound (tinnitus). It's hard to put into words how it felt when it happened, but for weeks afterward, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.
The day before the night I lost my hearing, I was swimming at the beach. The water was incredibly cold, and the sea had big waves. I love it when the ocean is wild. It was a fun afternoon. When I returned home and finished showering, I noticed a strange sensation in my left ear. I could hear sounds as if I had a seashell in my ear, hollow. My initial thought was that water had entered my ear and it would go away, even though I had experienced water in my ear before, and this sensation was different. So, that night, I went to sleep believing that everything would be fine the next morning.
The next day, I woke up feeling an intense pressure on the left side of my head. I couldn't hear anything from my left ear, and a ringing sound started in my ear (tinnitus). The left side of my head felt numb, and I had lost sensation in various areas (below my left eye, ear, and the back of my head). Additionally, I could hardly walk due to dizziness (a spinning sensation), and I had to rely on holding onto walls for stability.
I visited an Urgent Care Hospital, and the doctor who treated me suggested that it might be a wax buildup in my ear. They prescribed ear drops and assured me it would resolve the issue. I tried to explain that it wasn't just a blockage because when I've had earwax blockages before, I could hear the echo of my own voice inside my head, but this time it wasn't the same. I also wondered about the origin of my dizziness, but they didn't pay much attention to my concerns.
After a day of using the ear drops, I went back to the urgent care center. This time, I saw a different doctor who told me possibly I had an ear infection (otitis). They prescribed different ear drops for the possible infection and sent me home. However, I continued to experience numbness on the left side of my head, but it seemed like none of the doctors were really listening to what I was trying to explain. It was frustrating that all of this happened in August, a month when many people, including doctors, are on vacation.
A few days later, I was able to secure an urgent appointment with an ear, nose, and throat (ENT) specialist. This time, the diagnosis was labeled as 'undergoing vestibular vertigo investigation.' I had severe hearing loss and could barely walk unaided. The doctor mentioned that they needed to conduct additional tests to study my vertigo. However, due to the vacation period, I couldn't undergo the tests until several days later. They sent me home in the meantime.
During those never-ending days, I did my best to cope. Sleep became my refuge, a temporary escape from the struggle of trying to perceive sounds. I reluctantly gave up listening to music because even though my right ear could still pick up sounds, I lost the sense of spatial awareness. All auditory input seemed to originate solely from the right side, creating a distorted perception. It was a devastating blow that plunged me into a profound state of depression. The world around me crumbled, and my ability to engage with it diminished. The left side of my head felt devoid of life. Sleep became my solace, but underlying it all was an overwhelming wave of anxiety.
In September, my regular ENT doctor returned from vacation and scheduled an urgent appointment for me. He conducted several hearing tests, including an MRI of the brain and CT scans, to rule out tumors, acoustic neuromas, and other neurological issues. Eventually, I received a diagnosis of Sudden Profound Hearing Loss (SSHL) in my left ear, with almost a complete loss of hearing. The doctor informed me that it was already too late, but we would give it a try. He prescribed a strong course of corticosteroids and administered numerous injections. For two weeks, I received daily injections, which caused my body to swell due to the corticosteroids. After completing the treatment, audiology tests showed a slight improvement in low frequencies, but the loss of high and mid-range tones remained irreversible.
October rolled in, and I had to return to university to resume my studies. However, that month felt like a hazy blur. The symptoms I had been experiencing (vertigo, brain fog, and balance problems) persisted relentlessly, offering no relief. I tried to get back into my regular routine, but it only seemed to aggravate my condition. Everyday sounds became grating and conversations with others became increasingly challenging. I felt mentally and physically drained, struggling to keep up with the demands of university life. Whenever I interacted with friends, they had to position themselves on my right side for me to hear them. Mentally, it was an incredibly tough year as I grappled with adjusting to my new reality. Months of being depressed and defeated, developing crippling anxiety where I didn’t want to go to the university.
I found that music didn't hold the same joy for me anymore. As my brain adapted to this new way of perceiving the world, all I desired was to isolate myself and escape from any kind of sound. When you live in absolute silence, you don't fully grasp how deafening your own deafness can become.
Nowadays, I still deal with tinnitus, sensitivity to sound, and pressure in my ears, but thankfully, I no longer experience severe hyperacusis and vertigo attacks. The internal sounds in my left ear range from a constant hissing, sirens, whooshing, pulsing, buzzing, to occasional clicking.
I still don’t want to hang out in social situations because I struggle to comprehend when people are speaking to me and have difficulty distinguishing various sounds and their sources. It becomes embarrassing to repeatedly ask, "I'm sorry, what?" and I often feel left out of conversations. Even a casual dinner at a restaurant can be overwhelming and draining.
These days have been particularly challenging. Loud noises feel like they’re pounding on my brain again. It’s becoming increasingly difficult for me to hear conversations in quiet environments. I find myself missing words and struggling to keep up. In recent check-ups, I’ve learned that my right ear is starting to lose its hearing as well. That's why I'm back in the whirlwind of medical tests, hopping from one doctor to another.
I can't even begin to describe the overwhelming frustration that washes over me as I watch my hearing slip away from the only ear I rely on because music it's the very essence that breathes life into my art, and now it feels like that vital lifeline is slowly fading. The melodies that once stirred my soul now come tinged with a sense of loss and sorrow, and it breaks my heart to think that I might miss out on the profound beauty of sound that has always been my sanctuary and inspiration. It's like a part of my being is slipping away, leaving me stranded in a world where the notes and harmonies that once lifted my spirits are slowly slipping through my grasp. The frustration is so immense, like a storm raging inside, as I grapple with the fear of losing something so dear to me, something that has shaped who I am and the art that flows from my very soul.
It's difficult to put into words, but I felt a strong desire to open up and share this part of my journey with everyone, in the hopes of connecting with those who may have encountered similar experiences. I want to assure you that you're not alone in this, and I hope that by sharing, we can find a sense of connection and support.
