In 2 Corinthians 12:7-10 the Apostle Paul writes about what he terms his “thorn in the flesh”. He describes this “thorn” as have been given him to keep him “from being too elated” (or boastful) in his ministry. He goes on to report that, having prayed three times to the Lord to be relieved of this thorn, he had resigned himself to accepting it and trusting instead in God’s grace.
Scholars and preachers have speculated throughout history as to just what it was that Paul calls his thorn. A leading theory is that it may have been his poor eyesight, rendering him dependent on others in the writing of his letters. But we simply do not know for sure. All we do know is that God gave Paul a peace about this affliction, allowing him to accept it with this affirmation direct from the Lord: “My grace is sufficient for you.”
For the past several weeks I have been thinking about Paul’s thorny situation. In a small way, you see, I can relate. I don’t have poor eyesight and am thankful to live in a time when my vision deficiencies can be corrected with modern eye care. But I have developed an annoying health companion I would just as soon be done with.
In the second week of March I came down with a virus (RSV) that led to pneumonia and was accompanied by a full-blown ear infection. In my memory I’d never had an ear infection before, though I had once overcome pneumonia. I previously thought RSV or Respiratory Syncytial Virus is something only little children contracted. The Emergency Department Nurse Practitioner informed me that it can also be problematic for “older adults”. She said this in a way that let me know I was in that demographic, and that it was common for RSV to cause severe lung infections, like bronchitis or pneumonia.
When I mentioned the ear infection, and that I could hear nothing out of my left ear, it being completed “stopped up”, she looked with her ear instrument and said, “It does look really sore”. No kidding!
Trying not to be snarky, as I was yet hopeful for some miraculous intervention that would reverse these problems, including especially the ear that alternatively roared like the ocean and pounded like the surf; I inquired if there were a procedure that might clean out or unstop my ear. “These things have to run their course”, I was told, the cause being viral.
In three other visits to my primary care physician, on each side of the aforementioned ED visit, I was likewise given information on the difference between a viral infection versus something like the flu or common cold. Medications were prescribed in all of my touch points with the medical community, which I am certain did help me overcome the pneumonia, fever, coughing (mostly) and other viral infection symptoms, sans ear – still clogged with the Indian ocean roaring inside.
Finally, I was given a referral to an ENT specialist, only to discover upon contact from their appointment scheduler that it would be a three-week wait for that appointment. Meanwhile the tides continued to roll in and out of my left ear hearing.
As I picked up my teaching duties, I discovered that giving a lecture with your ear clogged creates a loud echo of your voice ringing through your head. I was also unable to hear the comments of students during class and had to ask those who stopped with a question afterward to speak a little louder. Equally challenging, over this time, has been visiting patients as a hospital chaplain with compromised hearing.
But the topper came when I made good on a promise to fill the pulpit in a sister church on Palm Sunday. God bless that congregation as they endured my attempt at proclaiming the Gospel between coughing fits, around cough drops, and sips of water, all while the mighty Atlantic Ocean roared through my head.
Finally, the day came, the long-awaited day for the ENT appointment. I’m sure they were glad to see me since I’d been calling them regularly to ask if perhaps there’d been a cancellation and I could come in earlier! I was “put on the list” and asked not to call back.
When my wife asked me what I had to do that day (the day of the appointment) I said I was going to make a nuisance of myself at the ENT office if I didn’t get some meaningful assistance. She told me to “be nice” and I promised I wouldn’t embarrass the family too much. But it was with determination that I went to the ENT office, endured the hearing test (knowing I was going to flunk at least half of it), and then waited and waited for my turn to see the expert.
Imagine then, my chagrin, when the expert told me that results of the test were inconclusive and that she and the audiologist had differing opinions as to what was causing my hearing loss. He thought the test revealed nerve damage, while she favored a conductive loss created my fluid build-up (“Bingo!” I thought and maybe said.)
Given the difference of opinion and fact that my ear hadn’t been clear enough in giving up it’s cause of affliction, she then recommended we “give it some more time”. This is when I made good on my earlier intent to be something of a nuisance – all the while feeling my wife’s phantom elbow in my side (she was not physically present, but when you’ve been married as long as we have, she might as well have been right there).
What I had not taken into account was the likelihood that the expert was going to be as stubborn as I. She did not back down and patiently explained that if they were to conduct a procedure (like putting a tube in my ear – another way to identify with my grandson) and the hearing loss proved to be nerve related, this would just cause more problems.
I made a point of asking her to repeat all of that, given that I had such a hard time hearing her. I think she saw through my ruse, however as she then made an attempt at connection. She assured me that she knew I was frustrated, but that she too was frustrated as she always wanted to help people. But there was that hypocritic oath thing about “first do no harm”.
So, with a firm handshake, direct eye contact, and the assurance that we would meet again (in 3 to 5 weeks she told the nurse), the expert excused herself and sent me off with the nurse to the scheduler. Did I mention that the Pacific Ocean was providing the soundtrack to this day’s excursion?
I smiled at the scheduler; God bless her heart and told her that I needed the appointment to be in 3 not 5 weeks. She seemed to get my point and was very accommodating. I’m pretty sure, but may have misheard, that she told me there was “no reason to call before then”, as I exited the office.
It’s been four days since that ENT appointment, and I have several more days to wait until the follow-up appointment. Meanwhile my constant companion, the conch shell, from – pick any ocean of your liking – is always right here with me. It’s worse when I lie down and first thing in the morning (sound like fluid to you? Me too!) It comes and goes through the day in intensity and pressure, but just like Paul’s thorn, it never completely goes away.
I’ve learned some compensating methods of dealing with it. I’m always turning my head to the right when talking with someone, kind of like a dog twisting it’s head in curiosity. I avoid crowded rooms with low ceilings and lot’s of background noise. I’ve come to expect internal head feedback as I teach and preach – which is weird every time. And, like Paul, I’ve prayed more than once for relief.
We will see what happens at my next appointment, or before – if it turns out I’m incorrect as to the cause of this problem – which I don’t expect to be. It could be “at my age” there is a tube in my ear’s future. Or it could be that hearing loss is just part of my ongoing journey. I think about this as my dear wife either turns the TV down or kindly asks me to do so.
danielcash 