Whenever Dwight caught a cold, it settled in his right ear. The pain it caused was palpable. He would wince and press his right hand against his ear.
Until this week, I never had an earache.
On Tuesday, I woke up with a sore throat. By second period, my nose was stuffed and my whole body ached.
That night, I could not sleep. I could not breathe. My ear throbbed.
Using my iPhone, I GOOGLED earache treatments. It looked like “Ear Candling” would require a partner, so I considered dropping olive oil in it. Instead, I suffered.
The next day, Wednesday, I took my Leadership class to the Summit County Courthouse. I sneezed, wheezed, coughed, and blew my nose all day.
Then, I called the doctor.
At 4:30, she looked into my ear and said, “Oh! That does look angry. A lot of people have been coming in with earaches, but none that look like that.”
She prescribed antibiotics.
* * *
Twenty-five years ago, Dwight stopped on South Temple in Salt Lake City while a little old lady with a walker crossed the street. He beeped the horn from the yellow Range Rover and waved to her.
When he saw me, he told me what happened. He added, “Sixty years from now, when you are a little old lady crossing the street, you will hear a horn. It will be me.”
I think my earache is from Dwight telling me to be quiet, rest, recover, and move forward.