I ignored it. Then it got louder. Then I started noticing it at night, when the house was quiet and there was nothing to distract me. I’d lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to a sound that didn’t exist outside my own head.
For three weeks, I convinced myself it would go away. It didn’t. I made excuses: “It’s just allergies.” “I’ve been stressed.” “Maybe it’s my imagination.” Finally, my wife said, “Go to the doctor. Now.”
I did. And the first question the doctor asked changed everything: “Have you been to any loud concerts or worked with power tools without ear protection?”
I had. Months earlier. A single night at a rock concert, standing too close to the speakers, thinking earplugs were for “old people.”
That night was long gone. But the ringing wasn’t.
