Little Ears.

One of my first memories was noise.

Arguing.

Rage.

Screaming.

Blame.

The kind of things little ears aren’t supposed to hear.

But mine did.

But my first physical memory?

Pain.

Relentless ear infections. I remember running back and forth between my living room and bedroom, screaming in agony.

But my mother never missed a chance to take us to the doctor. That part always felt like it was about her, not me.

Still, I got tubes put in early on and as I got older, they fell out. But nothing really changed.

The fullness.

The pressure.

The balance issues.

Eventually, nerve pain.

Sometimes it felt viral.

Sometimes structural.

It always felt like something was wrong deep inside, where no one could see it.

In my late twenties, I worked in sales for LegalShield. They offered big sales incentives like exotic trips, all expenses paid. That year, I earned Jamaica.

The day before we left was chaos.

• Packing.

• Laundry.

• Scrambling.

And underneath all of it my left ear was starting to flare again.

Bad.

I kept taking decongestants and Advil, hoping I could push through it. Like always.

I told myself:

“Even if I’m in pain… at least I’ll be in Jamaica.”

I always loved flying. Not for the destination, for the ascent. The moment when the pressure would finally pop my ears. That release when everything expanded for just a second and felt like relief I couldn’t get anywhere else.

We landed and went straight to the bar. I was deep in my alcoholism at the time...but we’ll come back to that.

Later, I went back to the room to get ready. I looked in the mirror. Something was off. My smile looked…

Warped.

I shrugged it off. Told myself it was nothing. Like always.

That night, a woman approached me.

“I’m an RN,” she said.

“I’m sorry to interrupt… but are you aware you have active Bell’s palsy?”

Pause.

Then.

“You need to get to a hospital. Now.”

“I do?” I asked. “This has been so weird. I thought it was just an ear infection earlier… now my smile is warped. Thank you for telling me.”

“You’re welcome,” she said. “Also under no circumstances can you fly until you’re stable.”

I rushed back to the room and called home.

“Mama, something’s wrong. A nurse said I have Bell’s palsy. My ear hurts so badly… I think I need to go to the hosp—”

“Oh no you’re not, young lady. You always do this. Some stunt. Always traveling. Always getting into problems. You get on a plane and come home. Right now.”

I rolled my eyes. Not because it didn’t hurt. But because it was familiar. I didn’t have the energy to feel it. Or fight her, again.

Much like when I was seven after getting bit by a dog and she said:

“Why did you let him bite you?”

Now at 32, standing in a hotel room in Jamaica with half my face now fully collapsed. I still felt like that little girl.

Jellies.

Hairbow.

Trying to figure out why everything was always my fault.

I hung up. Called my dad.

“Daddy… I have Bell’s palsy. The left side of my face collapsed. I need to go to the hospital.”

“Okay,” he said. “Find out how much it’s going to cost.”

Pause.

“I wasn’t going to say anything… but you always seem to have some problem when you travel.”

“Okay,” I said. “I’m taking a taxi to a private hospital. Apparently the public ones aren’t safe. I’ll let you know if I need money.”

No one asked if I was okay.

If I was scared.

If I would be okay.

This memory came back to me today.

Even after everything I’ve processed, memories like this still surface. Tragic and cathartic. Because I never forgot. I buried it.

For years, I never understood why I struggled with eating disorders, depression, anxiety, addiction, abusive relationships like songs on repeat.

Yesterday, my ear pain came back. And for a moment, it felt like it might happen again. But this time, I caught it early.

• Steroids.

• Antivirals.

• Intervention.

• And awareness.

Maybe my ears should never have heard my childhood.

Maybe my ears were just born small.

But today, I remembered and I listened to those Little Ears.

Sydney Turcotte 🎀