This is how it happened last Friday…
“Blow through your nose,” says Chris.
“I am blowing through my nose,” I reply.
“Listen, if a three-year-old child can blow up a balloon through his nostril then so can you,” Chris says impatiently.
“You’re too nervous. Just go for it and blow,” pipes up Roland.
Now at this juncture I had better explain. You see, I had been deaf in one ear for nearly four weeks and it seemed to be getting worse, not better, in spite of nasal spray, decongestants and a Vick nasal stick. Two doctors, independently, thought my left ear would clear eventually of its own accord but secretly I feared I would need surgery and grommets.
Luckily, my dear old mum is still as astute as she is caring and, whilst she had been out in Dawlish on Wednesday, she struck up conversation with an interesting couple and happened to mention my bad ear (no doubt in the hope they might have a solution). Would you believe it? The lady in question had had an ear problem that sounded exactly like mine; furthermore, she had found the cure – a German product called Otovent (though it’s actually made in China). Mum had been standing outside Boots the chemist at the time so, after the goodbyes, she went straight in and ordered me my very own Otovent glue-ear cure – a significantly sized piece of plastic, rounded at one end (for pushing up one’s nostril) and with a hole running through it, and several white balloons with “Otovent” printed on them (to be fitted to the other end of the plastic device). It arrived on Friday. And now back to the conversation…
“I’m blowing as hard as I can!” I say.
“No you’re not,” says Roland, “give it some welly!”
“Let me have a go first and we’ll see how easy or difficult it is to blow up using one nostril,” Chris says.
Taking it from my left nostril, I wipe the round end piece of the device with kitchen towel and pass it to Chris. He wipes it with his handkerchief, places it hard against one nostril, shuts off the other nostril with a finger and blows; the balloon expands immediately – just as easily as if he had blown it in his mouth.
“Let me try again,” I ask, holding out my hand.
He passes it to me and I swill the plastic thing in a glass of water, wipe it with kitchen roll, put it back in the glass for a second swill then wipe it again until the white plastic is thoroughly dry and burnished. Heartened by the fact that even my husband can blow up the balloon, I give it another go.
“If you can do it, and three-year-old children can do it, then I must be able,” I say.
I push the big round ball end against my dainty nostril, shut my right nostril with a finger against it, and I blow… to no avail – the white balloon with Otovent printed on it hangs loosely below my line of sight; I fancy it must look somewhat limp and pathetic.
“I wonder if they’ll take it back?” I conjecture.
“Not likely,” answers Roland, looking at me with the piece of plastic still up my nose and the limp balloon hanging down over my chin.
“Guess not,” I agree and we all laugh.
“I’d better give it another go,” I say, “or Mum will have wasted nearly a tenner!”
“Take some deep breaths,” suggests Chris.
So I take three deep breaths. The men are watching me intently and I want to burst out laughing. They notice my urge to laugh and they try to stifle their own, not dissimilar, urges. I take some more deep breaths, push the ball of the device higher into my nostril and blow with all my might. My ears crackle and pop and the balloon expands to the size of a grapefruit.
“I can hear!” I scream (I’m so used to shouting).
It was an Eddie Murphy moment – like his character in the movie “Trading Places”, when the he is pretending to be an amputee and the police lift him from his trolley to reveal his legs. “I have legs!” he exclaims.
Three days on I can still hear thanks to “Otovent” and, if anyone has a glue-ear I’d be happy to lend my nostril device to you – only two users!
