My Ears, His Nose

I went to the doctor because my ears felt blocked.

I had experienced the same thing before.

Every few years, my ears were cleaned and the pressure disappeared.

So I arrived with confidence.

“My ears are blocked,” I said.

The doctor looked at me.

“Do you have a problem with your nose?”

“No.”

He examined me.

“There is a deviation in your nose.”

“My ears are blocked.”

“Yes, but this may come from your nose.”

“Every few years, they clean my ears and it goes away.”

He looked at the ears.

“They are very dirty.”

I felt that we were finally making progress.

Then he added:

“But there is a good chance the problem comes from your nose.”

We had now established the structure of the consultation.

Doctor: nose.

Me: ears.

Doctor: nose.

Me: ears.

There was a strange comedy in being both corrected and confirmed at the same time. My ears were, apparently, guilty. My nose was also a suspect. The doctor had a wider theory of the case, while I was emotionally committed to the simpler explanation.

Patients often arrive with stories already written.

This hurts.

This fixed it last time.

Please repeat the old solution.

Doctors arrive with systems.

Everything is connected.

The body has accomplices.

The obvious symptom may not be the first cause.

Both positions are reasonable. Both can also be annoying.

Eventually he cleaned them.

Then he asked:

“It did not improve, did it?”

“It is perfect now,” I said. “Thank you.”

I stood up.

For me, the case was closed.

He stopped me.

“Wait. Do not run away. We need to fix your nose too.”

That was the moment the story became permanent.

Perhaps he was medically right to remain interested in my nose. I cannot judge that now.

What I remember is the conversation.

I had come with one problem.

He had discovered another one.

My problem disappeared.

His remained.

And somewhere between medicine and comedy, we both left with evidence that our version of the story had been correct.

Inside My Ears, His Nose

I like the memory most where it refuses to explain itself completely. The smallness is not a weakness. It is the reason the memory can remain exact.

The scene keeps one clear fragment and lets the rest stay blurred. That small resistance to disappearance is enough.