I’m writing to you from a small village in the south of France, in a garden as unlike my own as is physically possible. Being next to the ocean and frequented by days of rain, the humidity is intense. Everything grows, and does so quickly, consuming fence posts and garden beds and tree trunks seemingly overnight.
But in this magical garden there is also a 200+ year old olive tree posted just outside my bedroom window, and it has been my constant companion these past weeks we’ve spent here—especially since most of them were spent in bed, being sick.
After three years of avoiding it, my husband and I finally caught COVID. On top of that, I found myself with an ear infection that continued to get worse. Anything involving your head almost always means intense pain, but the throbbing I experienced in my ear was unlike anything else.
I couldn’t think straight, couldn’t sleep well, and could barely exist without aspirin. I was taking oral antibiotics, probiotics and Tylenol on constant rotation every few hours—a challenge for my normally pill and doctor-averse self.
But the worst part is that the pain seemed to be getting worse and not better. I had the sense that there was something in my ear that needed to come out, and until that happened—this new burning hot pulsing pain would be my new normal.
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