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| Many great Americans understood the horror of moths. |
It started as an innocent night of hanging out with girlfriends. It was after dark when Candi and I stood on Carrie's front porch and rang the door bell. Carrie lived with her mom in a lovely, older part of town. We knocked on the door and patiently waited. The balminess of an Oklahoma summer gleamed on our faces, and mayflies and moths securely gripped the black waffling on the screen door in front of us. Everything seemed perfectly normal. There was nothing amiss.
I slapped my ear. Something had tickled me. It was not a good kind of tickle, (i.e. hot guy using his tongue) but rather an odd, irregular tickle, like a cats whiskers or a toddler's grimy finger. Just then Carrie's mom opened the door and let us in. I had barely said "Hello" when a sudden explosion dropped me to my knees! The noise was deafening, but no one else seemed to notice. A very brief time later I realized the explosion I was hearing was entirely limited to my ear canal. This of course effectively explained why I was the only one in the room who suddenly screamed like a maniac, writhed on the floor, and then assumed the fetal position. What had happened? Nature had gone wild. A moth had burrowed into my ear and was now beating its wings against my eardrum in a desperate effort to escape. How does that feel you ask? I will tell you. Imagine the intense noise and pressure you would experience if you were to drive an eighteen wheeler down the interstate with your head hanging out of the window. Now imagine that occurring in your ear while you rock back and forth on the floor like someone with social anxiety at Times Square on New Years Eve. That pretty much sums it up.
When the girls understood what had happened, (once again, i was the only one lying on floor and shrieking) operation "Exit Moth" began. They poured water in my ear. They poured hydrogen peroxide in my ear. They poked around in my ear with pointed objects under the glare of a min mag light. Sometimes the moth would get tired and become still, and I would revel in the cranial silence I had previously taken for granted. Then, just as suddenly as the first time it happened, the moth would startle and begin to flap its wings, compelling me to spasm and scream. My friends stared at me with pity. To an uniformed stranger I looked like a heroine addict in the last stages of withdrawal; or perhaps an epileptic who also suffered from Tourettes.
My friends wanted to take me to the emergency room, an idea that I vetoed on two counts. One, I was planning to join the Peace Corps and didn't want to shame the Corps. After all, how could I possibly do valuable work in a primitive African village if I couldn't cope with ear-rape by an American moth? Secondly, I didn't have health insurance, and no way was I going to end up owing some hospital 2k because a moth found my ear wax sexy.
Finally someone decided to try pouring olive oil in my ear, and sweet Mother of Mercy, it worked! Beautiful, blessed silence! The moth had been smothered. I was free from random explosions in my head, however I now the challenge of falling asleep knowing there was a rotting winged carcass somewhere in there. I whispered "Peace Corps" to myself, took three times the recommended dose of Benadryl and then passed out with a towel draped over my pillow, just in case.
The next morning I called my family doctor, explained the situation, and made an appointment for later that afternoon. When I got there and signed in they had no record of my appointment. Flustered, I formed a slow sentence....but I called...this morning.... a moth in my ear? Oh. The receptionist laughs. They thought it was a prank call. They never scheduled the appointment.
They got me right in and a suspicious doctor looked in my ear and declared it to be empty. I don't see anything, he told me as he prepared to leave the exam room. I promised him he would find a moth, so he begrudgingly requested a massive plastic syringe and a basin from his nurse. A few minutes later he shot nearly a half a cup of very hot water into my ear. It felt like a tidal wave, so for about the tenth time in twenty-four hours I screamed aloud and swore like a relatively wholesome sailor.
And there it is. It's floating in the pink, plastic bowl and frankly all of us are a little shocked to finally see it. I pick it up and respectfully spread its wings their full width. When I finish admiring it I carefully wrap it in toilet paper and put it in my pocket. This was in my ear, I proudly tell anyone who will listen as I showed them my moth. This pride lasted about two days. On the second day I stepped in front of a box fan and my moth blew away.
Years have passed since then and I have put the night of the moth behind me. But now I know what can happen and sometimes I must warn others. So, if you are ever standing on a porch in the dark, waiving away the moths that are buzzing the light over your head, listen carefully! When you hear someone yell "Hey! Watch your ears!" You will know you've just become a part of my mission. Shaunda Cottingim. Legendary survivor. Saving the world from moths- one set of ears at a time...
I slapped my ear. Something had tickled me. It was not a good kind of tickle, (i.e. hot guy using his tongue) but rather an odd, irregular tickle, like a cats whiskers or a toddler's grimy finger. Just then Carrie's mom opened the door and let us in. I had barely said "Hello" when a sudden explosion dropped me to my knees! The noise was deafening, but no one else seemed to notice. A very brief time later I realized the explosion I was hearing was entirely limited to my ear canal. This of course effectively explained why I was the only one in the room who suddenly screamed like a maniac, writhed on the floor, and then assumed the fetal position. What had happened? Nature had gone wild. A moth had burrowed into my ear and was now beating its wings against my eardrum in a desperate effort to escape. How does that feel you ask? I will tell you. Imagine the intense noise and pressure you would experience if you were to drive an eighteen wheeler down the interstate with your head hanging out of the window. Now imagine that occurring in your ear while you rock back and forth on the floor like someone with social anxiety at Times Square on New Years Eve. That pretty much sums it up.
When the girls understood what had happened, (once again, i was the only one lying on floor and shrieking) operation "Exit Moth" began. They poured water in my ear. They poured hydrogen peroxide in my ear. They poked around in my ear with pointed objects under the glare of a min mag light. Sometimes the moth would get tired and become still, and I would revel in the cranial silence I had previously taken for granted. Then, just as suddenly as the first time it happened, the moth would startle and begin to flap its wings, compelling me to spasm and scream. My friends stared at me with pity. To an uniformed stranger I looked like a heroine addict in the last stages of withdrawal; or perhaps an epileptic who also suffered from Tourettes.
My friends wanted to take me to the emergency room, an idea that I vetoed on two counts. One, I was planning to join the Peace Corps and didn't want to shame the Corps. After all, how could I possibly do valuable work in a primitive African village if I couldn't cope with ear-rape by an American moth? Secondly, I didn't have health insurance, and no way was I going to end up owing some hospital 2k because a moth found my ear wax sexy.
Finally someone decided to try pouring olive oil in my ear, and sweet Mother of Mercy, it worked! Beautiful, blessed silence! The moth had been smothered. I was free from random explosions in my head, however I now the challenge of falling asleep knowing there was a rotting winged carcass somewhere in there. I whispered "Peace Corps" to myself, took three times the recommended dose of Benadryl and then passed out with a towel draped over my pillow, just in case.
The next morning I called my family doctor, explained the situation, and made an appointment for later that afternoon. When I got there and signed in they had no record of my appointment. Flustered, I formed a slow sentence....but I called...this morning.... a moth in my ear? Oh. The receptionist laughs. They thought it was a prank call. They never scheduled the appointment.
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| The Future of Anti-Moth Wear |
They got me right in and a suspicious doctor looked in my ear and declared it to be empty. I don't see anything, he told me as he prepared to leave the exam room. I promised him he would find a moth, so he begrudgingly requested a massive plastic syringe and a basin from his nurse. A few minutes later he shot nearly a half a cup of very hot water into my ear. It felt like a tidal wave, so for about the tenth time in twenty-four hours I screamed aloud and swore like a relatively wholesome sailor.
And there it is. It's floating in the pink, plastic bowl and frankly all of us are a little shocked to finally see it. I pick it up and respectfully spread its wings their full width. When I finish admiring it I carefully wrap it in toilet paper and put it in my pocket. This was in my ear, I proudly tell anyone who will listen as I showed them my moth. This pride lasted about two days. On the second day I stepped in front of a box fan and my moth blew away.
Years have passed since then and I have put the night of the moth behind me. But now I know what can happen and sometimes I must warn others. So, if you are ever standing on a porch in the dark, waiving away the moths that are buzzing the light over your head, listen carefully! When you hear someone yell "Hey! Watch your ears!" You will know you've just become a part of my mission. Shaunda Cottingim. Legendary survivor. Saving the world from moths- one set of ears at a time...
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