YOU CAN SAY THAT AGAIN by Dave Wellings

The inaugural meeting of the Clifton Writers Group made a hesitant start.

“Hi, I’m Pam, do you know everyone?”

“Yvonne? Hello, I’m Kate.”

“Pardon?”

“I’m Kate.”

“No, you’re not late, you can have this chair.”

“Where? Near Nobby.”

“No, I’m saying you can sit here.”

“Beer? No thanks Yvonne, it’s a bit early for me, perhaps a cup of tea.”

Maybe those weren’t the actual names; I didn’t catch them at the time, in fact, it soon became apparent that half the people in the room had some kind of hearing impairment. It might explain why we now tend to talk in small groups – we can’t hear people across the room!

Twelve months earlier I had become aware of tinnitus in my left ear, a constant high-pitched whistling sound. The Czech composer Smetana suffered from it and, after identifying the constant note, ended his last string quartet on a long, long E natural. It is common with men of a certain age, especially if they have been exposed to the noise of jet engines, racing cars and gun fire. I’d won the trifecta there. I would often miss telephone calls or my wife calling from another room, (there was some selective deafness of course) but when she pointed out that people from across the railway line were listening to our radio, I had to concede that the volume had been steadily increased over the years. I finally gave in to her urging and agreed to see a doctor.

A succession of doctors had passed through Clifton untroubled by me. I was fit, I had no need of doctors, I merely wanted a referral to a hearing clinic. The doctor had other ideas: he gave me a full roadworthy – blood pressure, blood test, tyres, brakes, wiring, the lot. Eventually he gave me the referral and I made an appointment.

The hearing specialist in Toowoomba told me what I already knew: there was a deterioration of hearing in one ear, an onset of tinnitus and there was little that could be done. Back home there was a message for me to contact the doctor urgently. If there was little that could be done, I didn’t see the need for urgency but I went along anyway.

The blood test had revealed a serious disorder. There were too many of the platelets which cause clotting; there was a risk of a stroke or heart attack. How much risk? Twice the normal level would be bad news; three times was ‘critical’ and four times meant ‘serious imminent risk’. I had five times the normal level. Another referral, another appointment, this time to an oncologist who ordered a bone marrow puncture, CT scans and more blood tests. The diagnosis was thrombocytopenia. Chemotherapy has gradually done its work and the blood tests are encouraging – almost back to normal.

My wife said: “It was lucky you went to the doctor about your hearing.”

Hmm, you can say that again.

Dave Wellings © 2006