Is hope worth the risk?

Today I went to the Audiologist. I have had tinnitus for about 10 years now, and I have fluctuated between denial, grief, and hope throughout that time.

Denial usually sounds like me trying to convince myself that I’m not actually that bothered by having a constant high-pitched ringing in my ear that never changes. Denial is a lie.

Grief looks like anger tinged with sadness. Anger at the negligent doctor who prescribed an anti-biotic that I should never have been on. An anti-biotic so strong that most healthcare professionals balk when I tell them that’s what he gave me without even consulting with me in person. An anti-biotic that has known side effects of tendon damage, central nervous system damage, and peripheral nerve damage…which for me took the form of a permanent ringing in my ears.

Anger often protects me from my sadness, but when the anger wanes, what I’m left with is the thought that I may never hear silence again. I am a person who loves the quiet of nature, and this thought is devastating. Grief is important, but not where we finish healing.

Then we have hope.

Hope may seem like a lovely thing, but hope is not certain. Hope represents possibility and not a guarantee. For anyone who has ever dared to hope, you know that it can be a roller coaster. You could get everything you ever dreamed of, or you could instead glimpse what might be, and then crash down the mountain back into the nightmare.

Hope provides relief from the pain of the situation you are in but hope also creates an expectation that may not be fulfilled. Hope feels like a promise, but it is not. A promise is something you can rely on…hope isn’t.

So, while I’ve painted a bleak picture of hope, I also want to argue for hope. Let the record show that this is a pro-hope post.

Why should we hope?

Because hope sends a message that you believe things can be better. For my tinnitus, if I dare to hope, it means I’m willing to take action. I’m willing to try a new intervention. I may actually find relief. Without this hope, the chance for healing goes down to zero. With hope, my nervous system immediately starts to reconfigure (the miracle of neuroplasticity) around that thought.

Why am I talking about hope here? On a blog for a PT/OT clinic?

Because it is important to me that you know I understand. My body also does not always cooperate with me. I am a human who experiences pain, just like you. I am also a human who has attempted to give up hope, wrangled with the rage and despair that followed, and then dared to hope again.

I see the inherent risk in daring to hope. I recognize how scary it is - to give legs to a feeling that has no real evidence to stand on.

I can give you no promises, but I can say, I have hope for you.

…and if I’m being honest, although I’m frightened, I guess I have hope for myself as well.

With Love,

Kara