(This is the text of the original article that I submitted. The published article was somewhat shorter. It appeared in Take a Break, Issue 38, 25 September 1997, page 22)

Saw, saw, saw. The sound of sawing was inside my head as the doctor cut through my eardrum.

"Do not move. Lie completely still. This is a very delicate operation", they had said.

I was lying on my side, head covered except for my ear sticking out. In the background were subdued voices. I had just one lifeline to their world - a nurse had been assigned to me to hold my hand. I still had some pain, despite the local anaesthetic. The comfort and support of that hand made it bearable.

The operation was for otosclerosis, a form of deafness caused by changes in the bones of the middle ear. The operation replaced the tiniest bone in the ear with a small metal device. It was made of platinum - a metal even more valuable than gold.

When I told my mother that I had been diagnosed as having otosclerosis she was distressed. It turned out that her mother had become increasingly deaf as an adult. My mother had been her fourth child and she had never heard the voice of her daughter. Although she could lip-read extremely well, her deafness made a barrier in her relationship with other people. My father had wanted to forge a good relationship with his mother-in-law, but she found him very difficult to lip-read. She had been told that she had nerve deafness, and nothing could be done for her. However, it would now seem that it was much more likely to be otosclerosis, a hereditary form of deafness, now treatable with a relatively simple operation. My mother and father mourned for the fact that she could have been cured, if only they had known...

Over the years, I realised that I was missing more and more of general conversation. It became an effort to concentrate on making sense of light chatter, when I was only really hearing 40% of what was being said. I started having hearing tests, and they confirmed that my hearing loss was coming to the stage when it made sense to consider having the operation.

"Don’t shout! Your mother’s not deaf", I heard a shopper complain to my son as he went boisterously round the supermarket. Perhaps my deafness was affecting him. Perhaps it really was time for me to do something.

Otosclerosis is exacerbated by having children, for some unknown reason. Therefore, when my second child was two I decided the time right to pluck up courage and have the operation.

General anaesthetic or local anaesthetic? I’m a bit of a chicken with pain and injections, but still I decided on a local anaesthetic. I thought that somehow the doctors would treat me with more respect if I was awake while they were working on me. I remembered that someone at college had died from a general anaesthetic when having a wisdom tooth removed. Also, there would be less chance of nausea and sickness after the operation with a local.

It still wasn’t much fun lying there having my eardrum sawn, and listening to them meddling inside my ear. However, it was finally all over and I was wheeled in the recovery room. Then I remembered something: my bone!! I wanted my bone - the little one they had taken out. I wanted to wave or shout to a nurse, but knew I still had to stay completely motionless. It was ages before someone came to wheel me back to the ward. "Can I have my bone, please", I asked. "I’ll see what I can do", she said. Having done all I could, I finally relaxed and let the effect of the tranquilliser and anaesthetic take me off to sleep.

I didn’t suffer any dizziness or nausea which are common effects of the operation. However, when they removed the thick dressing after a few days, noises did sound very strange and harsh. If I had let my hearing drop any lower it would have been worse. There was also an odd metallic sort of taste on one side of my tongue. The taste nerve runs close to the ear canal and is often disrupted in this ear operation.

"No showers or hair washing for two weeks" the surgeon had commanded me after the operation. After two weeks of increasingly greasy hair, despite using dry shampoo, it was wonderful to be able to give my hair a good wash. I really rubbed and scrubbed it. I was very, very careful, though, not to let any water in my ear.

Now as I lay in bed next to my husband, we can whisper sweet nothings again - even with the light out. Before, I’d needed to see his lips to hear properly. Now we can have a good heart-to-heart in the dark. If I don’t want to hear - or if I want to sleep in a noisy room when we are away - I turn over so my "old" ear is uppermost. The hearing in that ear is declining slowly, and one day I may have the operation done on it. However, with a 5% chance of the operation making your hearing either worse or no better, I’ll wait until I feel it is essential for me.

My first son’s forceful voice has done him well. He had a speaking part in the local pantomime and his words came over loud and clear. My deafness had brought its bonuses.