Category: Health

I want to believe! A tinnitus treatment called bimodal neuromodulation is getting major media coverage now that two different products are in the market.

As a longtime tinnitus sufferer, I’m curious to learn more about Lenire; I wonder how the team figured out that the mouth was a good conduit for the technique. My own experience suggests a connection to the jaw, although they chose different.

Sadly, I tried Neosensory’s Duo in 2022, and experienced no improvement after two months of training. Literally zero. I know people for whom it worked, though, so perhaps variations will be effective.

Instead, I’ve been trying AudioCardio for the past six weeks. My tinnitus is not good, but I do think it’s marginally better, in that the intensity I’d been noticing in 2023 has toned down a little. Small victories are victories, so I’ve maintained my subscription, and will see how it goes for a while longer.

MindEar may also be worth exploring, as CBT can positively impact a wide range of tendencies and phobias. Why not tinnitus?

Ring ring ring, ha ha hey and all that, but I’m glad there are new paths being forged.

I am a longtime bike commuter and a general fan of bicycling around New York. I liked to ride to work twice a week in fair weather, a practice I continued right up to the start of the pandemic, when commuting got turned on its head.

Since the start of the pandemic, like many others, I no longer have a regular commute. Which means I don’t get to bike to work—but I don’t take mass transit to work, either. After 20 years of near-daily trips downtown, I suddenly had no need for an unlimited-ride Metrocard. I’m a longtime fan and supporter of the subway system, but my use cases dwindled, and along with it, my enthusiasm for going underground.

Enter Citibike. For all my cycling around the city, I’ve always struggled with where to leave my bike when I get to where I’m going; bikeshare eliminates that problem, with docks every couple of blocks. Hopping on a bike meant fresh air, exercise, and not dealing with the transit system. And then there’s the ebike.

Riding the Citibike ebikes are an adult equivalent of what kid cyclists feel when their parents give them a push. Step on the pedal, and a light mechanical whir provides an instant boost. It makes slow rides fast and flattens out hills. This morning, I rode a standard Citibike (sigh) and traveled 1.5 miles in 15 minutes; this afternoon, for the return trip, I went 2.2 miles on an ebike in just 12 minutes.

That time, by the way, turns out to be an 11 mph clip. New York’s subways average a paltry 17 mph these days, and buses in Manhattan just 6 mph. Grabbing an ebike means I get to my destination in half the time of a bus, and not much longer than a train—and that’s without factoring in wait times, delays, or going out of my way to a station.

In fact, it can be quicker. My recent rides, for example, were to 11th Avenue in the west 50s, not exactly a great place to find the MTA, and home from east midtown to the Upper West Side, which usually involves three different subway lines. For the latter, I cut my travel time nearly in half. Going to Zabar’s takes 15-20 minutes by bus or train, but on an ebike it’s barely a five minute ride.

In addition, Citibike ebikes are, simply stated, fun. It’s a great rush to feel a bicycle zip along without strain; one feels in control but also along for the ride. The next generation ebikes are especially satisfying, as they are sturdier and heavier, making the experience feel like a cross between a standard bicycle and a motorized scooter. An ebike ride provides a little cardio, too, because it’s still a bike that needs to be pedaled. So the trip is active instead of passive, yet relaxed enough to avoid breaking a sweat on the way to a meeting.

I have an annual Citibike membership (thanks Citibank!) so my ebike rides delightfully affordable. That ride from midtown cost $2.48. Which, now that I lack that 30-day Metrocard, compares favorably to the $2.75 cost for a single ride with the MTA. Fresh air, light exercise, and spare change back in my pocket? I’ll take that trade every time.

So I’ve become an ebike regular: to appointments without a direct subway route, to business lunches, to meet friends after work, to save time going crosstown. If my route sends me into Central Park, so much the better. Because what better way to do New York than with high-speed, point-to-point, cost-efficient personal transport?

For two-plus years, I have been a model of safety, consistency and restraint in the face of the covid-19 pandemic. I was among the first to stock up on supplies for the lockdowns; one of the first to acquire, and rely on, KN95 masks; one of the most cautious in public spaces. I made my family mask up in the most innocuous of situations and maintained a useful wariness everywhere I went. Everyone in my household was vaccinated and boosted at the earliest eligible moment.

We let our guard down when we could—socializing more during the summer 2021 ebb, throwing my son a mask-free bar mitzvah reception in October (negative tests required)—but to this day I am easily identified as the guy with the mask hanging around his neck, putting it back on as soon as appropriate. Never mind that many people are moving on from masks; never mind that in many parts of the country, covid-19 infection rates are fairly low. Better safe than sorry.

Two weeks ago, when we embarked on eight days of outdoor activity in the national parks of the American Southwest, guess who brought his mask everywhere? Me, that’s who. Stuck on a line? Talking to the hotel concierge? Mask up. My younger son joined me, two lonely beacons of caution in an increasingly carefree world. Covid’s still out there, and we weren’t going to be caught off guard.

Well, guess what.

I woke up Saturday morning in Phoenix with a pesky cough. (I also threw my back out in the shower; I don’t believe it was related, although it made things much more interesting.) I had virtually no appetite but chalked it up to the cough and the backache. I flew home uneventfully, masked in my KN95 all the way.

Sunday morning, my cough was worse, and seemed like a sinus infection was brewing, so I popped across the street to my local urgent care. They took my vitals and swabbed my nose. In came the doctor: “What seems to be the problem today?”

“Well, I sometimes get sinus infections, and I have all the signs of one, so here I am.”

“You don’t have a sinus infection,” he said, with just enough levity, “you have covid.”

The ensuing days have been… tiring. I began isolating immediately, although I’d already spent the evening and morning with my family unawares. Urgent care helpfully pescribed me a course of Paxlovid, which Alto pharmacy unhelpfully delivered three hours late, whereupon I headed to my in-laws’ empty house in suburbia to isolate. Too late: on Monday, my wife tested positive, and on Tuesday, my younger son, he of the diligent masking, got it as well. I brought him out of the city to ride out the virus with me.

It’s Wednesday, and the three of us have experienced a full slate of covid symptoms. I will personally remind you, dear reader, that covid-19 is no joke, no matter how many people tell you it’s “just like the flu” and “not a big deal.” We have coped with fever, chills, achiness, congestion, coughs and substantial amounts of fatigue. I think the Paxlovid made a real difference in reducing my viral load, but it still wiped me out, and I’ve had waves of tiredness all day today, my fifth day of symptoms.

“Covid sucks,” my son keeps saying. He has been a model of perseverance and good-naturedness despite (in adult terms) really feeling like shit. I’m on the mend but there’s a ways to go for us all.

Next week, I look forward to leveraging my brief immunity around New York: I’m going to dine out, get a massage, go to WeWork without unease. But I’ll still have my mask around my neck, ready to wear. Because if the last thing I wanted was to get covid-19, the last thing I want going forward is to get it again.

March 22, 1995. That’s when my ears started ringing, give or take a day. It was just shy of my 22nd birthday, and I was a senior in college, sitting in a chair in my bedroom, doing homework, when I got one of those random high-pitched tones in my ear.

Except this time, instead of fading out after a few seconds, the tone didn’t leave.

After five or ten minutes I began freaking out. I played in rock bands; I went to a lot of shows; I blasted the car radio on my three-hour drives from home to school. I knew exactly what I was experiencing. I took out the pad I carried around for journaling and notes, turned to a blank page, and wrote to myself, in all caps:

YOU MAY NEVER AGAIN KNOW SILENCE.

Sadly, I was right. With a couple of random, fleeting exceptions, my tinnitus has persisted for twenty years now, an anniversary I’m pleased I didn’t remember last month.

Tinnitus is a disappointing thing to live with. I rarely go to live concerts anymore, and I can’t blast music very often, whether in a car, on a stereo or with headphones.

I’m That Guy wearing earplugs at social functions like weddings and bar mitzvahs. I cover my ears when the express train rumbles past and cringe when fire engines and ambulances race by. At night I can’t fall asleep without some ambient noise in the room.

That said, I’ve gotten used to my tinnitus. Protecting my ears has kept my hearing sharp—I test above average when I get my ears checked—and avoiding loud noises does minimize the ringing. And I stumbled into Earplanes a number of years ago and it’s made my air travel infinitely more comfortable. On par, I’m doing just fine, thanks.

Numerous Ideapad posts over the years have discussed my tinnitus in various forms; if you want to explore, I’d suggest reading “The ringing,” from February 2004, and proceeding into the archives from there.