Words by Freya Bennett // illustration by Dajia Zhou
The first sign that something was wrong was a white noise that emerged suddenly in my left ear. The doctor had just syringed my ears, washing out the antibiotic drops she’d prescribed me a week earlier, which had become stuck in my left ear, rendering my world temporarily muffled. My relief at feeling unblocked overrode the questioning of the strange new sound, so I thanked her and left.
As I lay on my pillow that night, trying to ignore the new whooshing in my ear, a strange crunching noise caught my attention. My brain tried to unscramble the disturbance until, confused and now wide awake, I lifted my head off the pillow. It was my dad’s grandfather clock, chiming away the hour. My left ear could no longer hear sounds as they were.
After a few days with no improvement, I returned to the doctor. When I mentioned the constant white noise and deafness in my left ear, her eyes widened in alarm, and she quickly referred me to an Ear, Nose, and Throat specialist before ushering me out of the room.
At the time, I was studying music at the VCA. Having to endure the loud static in my ear as I tried to continue my studies was agonising. The six-week wait to see the specialist was long and filled with frustration. My saxophone, once a source of great joy, became an unbearable cacophony. My ears tensed up whenever I played, in an overzealous attempt to protect themselves. My right ear, having escaped the fate of my left, overcompensated and became extremely sensitive, making live music intolerable. Friends looked on in confusion as I cried in music venue bathrooms, unable to bear the sound of the band or even the joyful chatter of patrons at the bar.
When I finally saw the ENT, he gave me five minutes, struck a tuning fork, placed it on my forehead, and diagnosed me with degenerative hearing loss. He said I would go deaf or need an operation. When I mentioned losing my hearing right after my ears were syringed, he dismissed it as a coincidence.
At 21, overwhelmed and anxious about my future, I sought a second opinion with the encouragement of my boyfriend’s mother, who coincidentally worked for an ENT surgeon. This specialist confirmed significant hearing loss in my left ear and agreed the syringing caused it, but brushed away my concerns stating my right ear was perfect and I’d just have to learn to live with my tinnitus and left ear deafness.
Unable to afford further specialists as a student, I reluctantly accepted his advice and tried to adjust to my new reality. I pushed through my music degree, ignoring the discomfort and graduated in 2009. I completely stopped playing music. My saxophone gathered dust as I hid in my share house for a year, shame pooling in my belly at my inability to continue.
Gradually, I found new ways to be creative. I rediscovered my love for the piano, an instrument that soothed my ears with its gentle tones. Writing became an outlet for my emotions, and I built a creative community centred on sharing experiences. I finally felt at peace with my new path despite the constant discomfort of my tinnitus.
Now, after having two daughters and reflecting on my experience, I’ve become passionate about advocating for myself and my daughters when they voice medical concerns as well as encouraging other young women to be their own advocates. The syringing of my ears was a procedure that should never have been performed, and I’ve since learned that it’s widely condemned by ear specialists. The dismissal of my condition and the lack of serious consideration when I sought help means I’ve never received a proper answer about what happened to my ear.
My left ear remains fairly deaf, with my last hearing test diagnosing 70% hearing loss. My tinnitus has become a barometer for my stress, and while always present, it flares up in times of anxiety, reminding me to slow down.
I have a heavy amount of anxiety around seeing medical professionals, but I’m working through this with the hope that one day I will have the courage to find out what happened to my ear all those years ago. For now, my right ear compensates for my left, and I’ve even found a silver lining: a restful nap is just a roll away. By placing my good ear on the pillow and keeping my deaf ear up, I can easily drift into a tranquil slumber. Quite the superpower as a sleep-deprived mum.
While live music is no longer central to my life, I can still enjoy concerts with proper ear protection. Earlier this year, I took my daughter to see AURORA in Melbourne, delighting in the music without feeling the need to be immersed in the scene. I’ve come to appreciate all aspects of creativity, finding my joy in the quiet creative pursuits of writing and editing, more happy to watch others dazzle on stage.
