A Final Thought: If a tree falls in the forest...
By Mitch Allen
Note on the March column: Thank you very much to the medical professionals who wrote in to help explain how a doctor might have uncrossed my ancestor’s eyes back in 1846. There were apparently several techniques, including “strabismus surgery,” which was introduced in the U.S. as early as the 1830s. This procedure involves cutting the extraocular muscles and was the most popular suggestion submitted by Mimi readers, one of whom pointed out that it was almost certainly performed without anesthesia. —M.A.
Growing up in the South in the 1970s, my friends and I listened to Southern rock bands like Lynyrd Skynyrd and Molly Hatchet at concert-level decibels and drank our fair share of Miller Pony 8-packs. Today, the long-term reward for this youthful frivolity is ringing in my ears, or tinnitus, which I recently learned is pronounced TIN-uh-tus by medical professionals, though tuh-NIGHT-us is just fine for us laypeople.
In other words, tinnitus is pronounced more like “ten of us” rather than “unite us.”
This makes good sense to me because words with the suffix “itis” often refer to some type of inflammation, as in dermatitis, arthritis, conjunctivitis and diverticulitis (four conditions to which I am unfortunately no stranger). Tinnitus, on the other hand, comes from the Latin tinnire which means “to ring or tinkle.”
Where I come from in south Georgia, “tinkle” means to urinate. No self-respecting Southerner would ever say “pee,” which for all intents and purposes is a cuss word. Whenever my mother heard it, she would cover her ears. Here in Northeast Ohio, however, everyone says “pee,” which, even after 30 years in the Buckeye State, still makes me cringe. That said, over those same 30 years I have received many strange looks from fellow Browns fans when I put down my beer, rise from the sofa, and announce, “I’ll be right back. I have to go tinkle.”
My tinnitus is a constant, high-pitched tone as opposed to my sister’s which is a low roar. The sensation is different for different people. Mine sounds like the violin screech you hear in Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho when Janet Leigh is being knifed in the shower by the wig-wearing Anthony Perkins. That may sound like a horrible way to go through life, but I really don’t mind. I’ve grown used to my tinnitus; it’s an old friend, a constant companion.
But I do prefer a tub bath.
There is debate about whether ringing in the ears is even a sound. That’s because “sound” is defined as vibrations that travel through the air (or some other medium), and tinnitus is not a vibration traveling through the air. It’s inside your head. Only you can hear it. Explaining tinnitus to someone who doesn’t have it is like explaining chiggers to a Northerner. You have to start by saying, “Well, y’all, they’re invisible.”
Of course, Hollywood ignores this definition of sound. If an enemy starship actually were to explode in outer space, it wouldn’t make a sound because space is a vacuum; there is no medium through which the vibrations could travel. I am sure George Lucas knows this. He just doesn’t want to make a boring silent movie.
I, on the other hand, do not believe that sound is simply vibrations in a medium. That definition would imply that tinnitus is not a sound and, let me tell you, it absolutely is. For many, including me, the term “sound” implies that something is actually heard. Using this logic, if a tree falls in the forest and no one is there to hear it, it does not make a sound. Yes, it creates “vibrations traveling through the air,” but it does not make a sound. It’s similar to a dog whistle, which, by definition, is silent.
Wait, let me make your counterargument for you: “A dog whistle is not silent; it just makes a sound you can’t hear.”
A sound that cannot be heard?
I told you ‘em chiggers was invisible.