WEATHERING FRIGHTS

It began as a bright and clear Friday, and we hoped the sun would start to melt the 10 inches of snow that had fallen during the night. But, as soon as I got to work, I discovered that all university offices were scheduled to close early because another storm was expected.

One of the professors offered me a ride home. I was delighted because I had unsuccessfully tried to ring up W.S. I suspected that he had dashed to campus to retrieve some materials before department offices were locked.

As a ferocious wind propelled me from the professor’s car toward my front door, I noticed that a narrow path had been shoveled from the street to our front door.

My husband had many fine qualities but cheeriness was not one of them, so when he greeted me with a hug and said, “Am I glad to see you!” I knew something was wrong. As he backed away, I first noticed his sheepish grin, and then I saw his lopsided, stark-white, frostbitten right ear. Swollen three times its normal size, it jutted out from an otherwise reasonably well-proportioned head. “If it falls off, we can always use it for a doorstop,” he joked. “Not funny!” I screamed, as I stared at his strange protuberance.

Alarmed at my reaction, W.S. ran to the mirror and quickly agreed something should be done to remedy the problem---anything, that is, short of going to the Student Health Center. “People never come out of there alive,” he shouted, “Have you ever met an engineering major who doesn’t act like a zombie?”

Ignoring his protests, I gave the Center a call. After calmly describing the swollen ear to the woman who answered the phone, she replied, “Well don’t rub snow on it.” “Why?” I asked, “would anyone in their right mind rub snow on a frozen ear?”
“I don’t know,” the voice answered, “but I heard that the last person who tried it ended up with his ear in his hand.”

“Don’t touch your ear!” I yelled at W.S. Returning to the phone, I said, “Nurse, could you please put a doctor on the line?” “I’m no nurse,” she responded indignantly, “I’m switchboard, but I’ll see who is still here.”  Finally, a man answered who informed me that there are several conflicting medical theories on how to treat frostbite. “Can he move the extremity?” he asked.

“W.S., wiggle your ears,” I shouted. “It’s okay, he’s waving at me with his right ear,” I informed the doctor. “Well, my ride is finally here lady, so I suggest you put a warm rag on your husband’s ear and call me on Monday.” At that point I wasn’t sure if “switchboard” had connected me with a doctor or the maintenance department, so I decided to get another opinion and called the local hospital.

“Whatever you do, don’t put heat on his ear,” the nurse instructed. “He should soak his auditory apparatus in a basin of tepid water, but after that just tell him to stay out of the cold.” No way was I going to tell my husband to stick his head in a bucket of tepid water. As I hung up the phone, I noticed little sparkling blisters popping up on the auditory apparatus.

Our neighbor was a graduate student in pharmacology. In desperation, I ran next door and tearfully begged him to come look at my husband’s bulging, sparkling ear. It only took one glance for him to observe---“You must have kept that sucker upwind.” He suggested we treat the ear like a bad burn.

I gently dabbed burn ointment on the swollen ear and taped a loose fitting bandage over it. I didn’t know if this treatment would help his ear, but at least we wouldn’t have to look at it for a while.  Later, when I removed the bandage, we were both relieved to see that the ear had shrunken back to normal size, and had regained a healthy pink glow---except now it looked like a shrimp in a shell.

Neither of us slept much that night because every time W.S. moved his head on his pillow, it sounded as if he were rumpling a ball of cellophane, and he’d whisper, “Did you hear that?”  Happily, in a couple of days his anatomy returned to normal as he shed his crustaceous shell and the errant ear emerged unscathed.

Chagrined, he swore to always wear earmuffs in the winter. He also vowed to never again shovel snow, take out the garbage or wash the dishes. W.S. always did know how to make the most of a bad situation.

CROSSING WITH THE BLUE LIGHT, Blumenfeld, c 2006