I am not sure what or how it happened, but my left BAHA abutment – the bolt drilled into my skull that my hearing aid attaches to – is as loose as a politician’s grasp of the truth. It not only hurts like hell, it makes the hearing aid useless.

I knew that the coming week was going to be rough. September 4th is the second anniversary of Amy’s passing. I was not expecting it to be this rough.

I am honestly not sure what to do because getting to Johns Hopkins is complicated – and, as diabetics walking into Hopkins is taking a huge risk for me and my father.

So, for the time being, I am back in silence.

It’s funny in a way because I was just getting used to being able to hear again. Now it feels like the MyPillow guy has taped several pounds of his products to either side of my head. It is disorienting as watching 2001: A Space Odyssey now that I know that the monolith was a representation of the screen we, the audience, are watching as the movie plays. In many ways, it is like being pulled out of the world. Everything is back to normal and then suddenly even the clicking of my keyboard as I type this is gone.

It would be easy to wallow in self-pity and ask pointless questions like, “Why me?” That kind of victimized thinking implies that there is some kind of universal plot to make me miserable, and that is just not who I am.

The left abutment was probably not installed properly. When I had the surgery back in 2013, the doctor broke the drill in my skull. I know this because I had to be awake for the surgery. The operating room was a circus full of med students. They had a boom box blasting bluegrass for my entertainment.

Just in case you are wondering, even the dulcet strains of Dueling Banjos cannot take your mind away from the sound of a large drill throwing a bearing as it is boring into your head.

When I have a way to get to Baltimore and back safely, as well as navigating a hospital without getting Covid-19, I’ll get the abutment fixed. Until then, I’ll be back in the quiet.

I really can’t complain. I have Pooka and a pot of hot tea. My family is safe and healthy. I miss Amy like a grounded eagle misses the sky, and I was having a ball listening to music again, but overall life is good. I have managed to brush all the burrs out of Mephistopheles’ coat, and the feral beast bonds with me more every day.

I wish I had a way to get to Blackwater on Friday. My wife and I loved Assateauge, but Blackwater was our spot. Special. Being an epileptic in a rural town makes it impossible to have much independence. It sucks not being able to just get up and go. Not being able to walk far or drive makes the days sometimes feel like a prison sentence. The two keywords here are sometimes and feels. I know how good I have it.

I’ll keep the lessons scheduled for this week. I’ll need all of you to step up for the Wednesday Night Banjo and Donut Marching Society meeting this week and work with each other. I will be offline on Friday.

Fret not, folks. I’ll be okay. This sucks, but compared to some I am the luckiest man alive. The great thing about not being able to hear is that I can’t hear Trump, Biden or Carrot Top – so, it’s a blessing!