Ear Irrigation and Post-War Compartmentalization.

Today, I found out it is World Mental Health Day. I didn’t realize it was today until later this afternoon and all evening I have been thinking about things to write about today. Should I talk about the specific issues I face as a Military Spouse? Or a middle child from a big family? Maybe I should mention my experience with postpartum depression? Instead, I decided I will write about what happened today, because I realized something today, something that despite being married to someone in the Military for the past 15 years I never noticed.

Today, I did a stupid thing. After a nice workout this morning, I jumped in the shower for a quick rinse before taking the twins to preschool for the afternoon. After my shower I threw on some clothes and helped the twins get ready.

“Ok, babes. I just have to clean my ears and then we’ll leave ok?”

I went back into my bathroom and grabbed a few q-tip and carefully cleaned one ear after another. I hate that wet ear feeling and clean my ears after each shower. When I pulled back the q-tip from my left ear, the soft fluff of cotton was no longer there. It was stuck. Inside my ear.

“Shit.”

I took the kids to school since we were running late and texted my neighbor when I got home to see if they could help me out. No such luck. The fluff was now deep into my ear canal by now and it hurt. To make matters worse my hearing was getting worse on that side too. Now what. I knew my husband was going to be home relatively early today, and I also knew he had irrigated some of his friend’s ears while on deployment in the sandbox. Maybe he could come home and help me out so I could avoid a trip to the urgent care. It was worth a shot. I dialed his number. Now, I never call my husband while he is at work, unless it’s a huge emergency. So, I wasn’t that surprised when he picked up on the second ring, sounding worried.

“What’s up?” His answer was brisk and I could hear heavy metal music and voices in the background of the team room.

“Hey baby.” I said in a calm and steady voice, “first of all, I am fine.”

“Jesus, baby.” he exhaled on the other end, I could hear the worry and slight irritation in his voice.

“I’m really fine.” I said, “It’s silly actually but…” and I explained the whole story to him.

“You know you’re not supposed to put those in your ears.” His response took me aback a little bit, especially since I had told him how I was in pain, and it was increasing.

“What do you mean? I was cleaning my ears out.” I was annoyed that he was focusing on correcting my methods of hygiene rather than showing compassion for my painful and somewhat awkward predicament. “It’s fine if you can’t come home, but I’m going to go into urgent care.”

“No, I can do it.” The music was loud in the background as I heard him shuffling things around on his desk, “Let me just finish up a few things and I’ll be on my way. Ok?” He was to direct and to the point. I said thanks and hung up.

Forty-five minutes later my husband walked into our home. I was on a call for work in the dining room and heard him head straight to the hall closet to get his supplies. He appeared a few minutes later ladened with items. He started setting things up as I wrapped up my call. After I hung up, I took a deep breath.

“Thank you. I’m sorry you had to come home for this. Does everyone at work think I’m ridiculous?”

He nodded as he moved quickly, but with exact precision and asked which ear hurt. He told me the guys at work all agreed with him that I should not have put a q-tip into my ear to clean it. I was annoyed at the jab, but let it go. After a few minutes it was determined that the fluff was too deep to extract with tweezers and he would have to irrigate my ear with water, hydrogen peroxide, a syringe and a long tube. I was a little nervous as he prepared everything.

“Will this hurt?” as I turned my head and leaned over the kitchen sink.

“Not a bit.” he said automatically, his hands moving swiftly with the tools.

It did hurt. Cold water rushed into my ear and I felt my equilibrium start to shift. My knees bent and I could feel the pressure building inside my ear.

“Alright. Turn your head. It’s going to be ok. Hold it there.” My husband's voice was steady as he pushed more solution into my ear, hoping to push out the wedged cotton ball.

I clenched the edge of the sink. Now, I have a pretty high pain tolerance, but I’m pretty prone to fainting and feeling lightheaded on a normal day, so this was really uncomfortable. After a few minutes, my husband informed me that he was done and nothing came out of my ear.

“Sorry, babe. It must still be in there.” He grabbed a kitchen towel and helped me clean up my face and neck. I stood up gently, holding onto my husband in front of me and immediately felt like I was going to throw up.

“I don’t feel good.” I said, sitting down in the middle of the kitchen floor. My husband helped me to the ground and started cleaning his tools at the sink.

“I think I’m going to throw up.” I said suddenly, a wave of nausea hitting me.

My husband of 15 years walked across the room and grabbed a big pot, and squated down in front of me.

“Yeah, it’s not a fun experience.” he said, looking at me and then the pot.

Once it was clear I wasn’t going to throw up, I laid down on the floor, watching it spin slightly as he started cleaning up his tools in the sink.

“I don’t feel good.” I said, afraid I would faint any minute. I hate it when I faint. He continued to clean his instruments.

“Sorry, babe. You’re going to have to go to urgent care." He was standing on the other side of the room now, his arms folded across his chest as he watched me on the floor, as I tried to regain my composure.

“I don’t like how you made fun of me.” I said, shutting my eyes and trying to quell the nausea rising up.

“What?” His head turned slightly, trying to figure out what I was saying.

“You just keep telling me what I wasn’t supposed to do, instead of asking if I was ok, or how I felt.” I said squinting up at him, wishing he would just come over and give me a hug.

“You’re not supposed to put q-tips that far into your ear.” you said your arms still folded, your tone a little annoyed and incredulous.

“It doesn’t matter. I clean my ears like that all the time. It was just a fluke thing that happened. I didn’t do anything wrong.” By this point I had propped myself up to a sitting position and slowly, holding onto the cabinet, stood up to standing.

Still, you stood there, looking at me.

“You’re supposed to ask if I’m ok and show some compassion. Especially since I told you I was in pain.” I looked at your face and saw something suddenly click into place.

You walked towards me, arms outstretched and pulled me into a hug.

“I’m sorry babe. Are you ok?” your voice was gentle and comforting now.

“I’m ok.” I said leaning into you “But I can’t drive. Can you take me to urgent care?”

Fifteen minutes later you are driving us to the clinic. I keep a hand on the side of my face to massage my ear, and try not to think about throwing up.

“I’m sorry for what I said.” You say, “I was being a jerk. I’m sorry.”

I’m quiet for a minute.

“It’s ok.” I answer. “But you know what I just realized?”

“What?” you ask, shifting into a higher gear.

"You’re kind of a different person at work. And it takes you a minute to become your normal husband self.”

You laugh “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. And I didn’t realize it until today. Normally you have time to chill on your drive home, but since I called you in the middle of your day and you weren’t expecting it you came home as “team guy”. You know?”

“Yeah, I guess it takes me a second to remember how to interact with you. Like, what would a normal person say in this situation.” You say.

“Yeah. I just always thought it only happens when you go to war. Like, you become “war guy” over there and then slowly over reintegration become “husband guy” again, but I just realized” I say looking over at you with surprise “I think you make the transformation everyday.”

You raise your eyebrows and nod as we drive along.

“Yeah” you finally say, “That sounds about right.”

We sit in silence for a second processing our lives and the many compartments you store yourself into on a daily basis. Compartments that you and I have to open, clear out and put back together in order to successfully communicate on a daily basis and add another year to our marriage. People talk alot about compartmentalization and war, but I never realized it follows you home into this post-war, ear irrigation random Tuesday afternoon that was today.

You pull up to the clinic to drop me off and then go get our three kids from school.

“I love you, you know.” you say out the open window, as I slam the van door closed.

“I love you too.” I answer “See you in a bit.” and I turn to head into urgent care to see about a tiny piece of cotton that has managed to expose something huge that I never realized about our marraige.

-Helen