One night, I heard a dripping tap. I asked my husband to check all the taps – upstairs bathroom, downstairs toilet, the kitchen. He assured me there were no dripping taps. He refused to check again. We argued. I checked. I desperately wanted to find the source of the noise. Nothing. What was that sound? Where was it coming from? I tried to ignore it. Then I was told.
My husband, a GP, explained – calmly, with all the understanding he could muster – that I had tinnitus, like Lara Williams (A moment that changed me: on the day of my first book deal, a mysterious hum overcame me, 6 August). How did I get it? Where had it come from? He couldn’t tell me. “It just comes,” he said. I hated him. I didn’t sleep at all that night, nor the night after. The noise was unbearable.
On the third night, I remember standing on the landing, crying. I was filled with rage. Then my son, David, came to the rescue. He put his headphones on my head, and a beautiful sound replaced the racket in my ears. It was How Deep Is Your Love by the Bee Gees. Tears still streamed down, but I began to feel a sense of calm. I stopped hearing the awful noise. I listened to the Bee Gees, Puccini and Chopin.
I listened myself to sleep. I taught myself relaxation techniques. But when the noise becomes unbearable, then I need all my techniques – music, poetry etc – to calm down and ignore the falling bombs, the dripping tap, the loud drums. It’s hard. But I can do it. And I want to tell people who suffer from this terrible condition: accept it. Forget the anger. Don’t ask why. Don’t think you’ve been punished. You haven’t. Just learn to cope with it as best as you can.
Maria Ursi Amesbury
Bristol
I have suffered with tinnitus for nearly 10 years, following an incident of uncontrolled loud music in a badly run venue. The resulting damage ended my musical performance and teaching career, and left me in a state of grief that will be with me until the day I die. While it is true to say that habituation does occur in time, it is no substitute for not damaging one’s hearing in the first place. Even though I am as habituated as I can ever expect to be, the tinnitus still dominates my life and activities. It impairs my sleep, and makes socialising difficult and listening to or making music impossible. I urge gig-goers, venues and musicians to take great care, because to wake up one day and realise that irreparable damage has been done to such a precious part of being human is devastating yet avoidable. I also encourage anyone affected to visit the Tinnitus UK website.
Sue Parish
Lancaster
Why has there been virtually no progress on “fixing” tinnitus? Lara Williams elucidates the desperation we all go through when acute tinnitus sets in. Her “acceptance” of the sensory handicap as the only path to coping with the condition mirrors my experience. However, that doesn’t always work. Other anxieties can derail our blocking. Then we have to build up the resilience all over again. It can be an exhausting process.
Paul Woodin
Hitchin, Hertfordshire
Tinnitus is exhausting, painful and isolating. At my first self‑help group, a gentle old lady told me she heard it as the angels urging her to carry on. Mine sounded more like a wasp trapped in a tin mug – but perhaps Lara Williams might find the angels version comforting?
Ian Garner
Oxenhope, West Yorkshire
I read with empathy Lara Williams’ article describing the onset of tinnitus. Sudden onset in adulthood must be very distressing. In my case it has been lifelong (I’m 76), and I only gradually became aware of it in my youth. She describes hearing something between an electronic hiss and the roar of the ocean; my symptoms are similar. I don’t remember a specific onset, except that in adolescence I once or twice asked if anyone else heard high-pitched sounds from the TV and no one did.
I didn’t have access to the kind of professional help Williams consulted, but seemingly came to the same conclusion. It’s there, part of me that isn’t going away; fighting against myself is futile. Letting go of the idea that this is something that shouldn’t be happening works better. Should and shouldn’t have nothing to do with it. It just is. Williams’ analogy to snowfall is beautiful and illuminating. Paying full attention to the moment or engaging fully in activity helps to simply not notice the tinnitus, or at least not as much, depending on the perceived volume at the time. Or maybe, sometimes, it’s just forgetting to hear the tinnitus while listening to the silence.
Bryan T Davis
Cedar Rapids, Iowa
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