I used to have problems with earwax.

It came out of nowhere and I suddenly noticed it. Before that, it was not a problem, at least not to my knowledge.

I would dig it out with my fingernail, wipe it on a piece of toilet paper or Kleenex, then go back for more.

I tried Qtips. I’d insert, twist and swirl, then down a little farther, swirl again.

It was like the deep drill for water or oil in the desert or wherever there’s water or oil you can drill for. You know the kind, with derricks and geysers. You’d sink a shaft, the dirt would be channeled to the surface, then you’d bring up the drill, clean it, send it back down to go deeper. The parallel is not exact.

When you hit your target, there would be a geyser (of oil or water), you’d cap it, install a pump, and head for the bank. The parallel is not exact.

I stopped using the Qtips because I was afraid I would puncture my eardrum and release a geyser of blood. I shuddered at the thought.

Then I used the back of tweezers, rounded where the two legs split. I’d bring up gobs of wax. I was very cautious, and a few times I got down to where my probe hit what I was sure was the ear drum. I ever so gently moved it back and forth to clear any wax, carefully not breaking the ear drum, and gentle enough not to leave a scar which I was sure would affect my hearing, which I wanted to protect, because I wanted to hear what people were saying, or to hear a siren warning, or to continue being able to listen to my classical music records, especially opera, played loud.

If I seemed to clear out the wax, I might forget about it for a few days. Residual wax would dry out, shrink and detach from the ear passage, and drop from the upper level of the earway to the lower level, where I could dig it out with a finger nail and flick it away.

Sometimes it fell right out of my ear. There was this one time when I was teaching and lecturing to students some of whom were paying attention, some looking away, trying to stay awake.

I felt a clump of earwax drop down in my ear. I paused mid-sentence, mastered a look of annoyance, fished it out and dropped it to the floor, then continued with my lecture. I think no one noticed besides me, at least they never said. But, as you can see, I still remember it.

On a routine visit to the doctor, where he looks at your eyes, ears, nose and throat, he saw the wax buildup that probably interfered with my perfect hearing. So he assigned me to a nurse who had me turn my head, squirted warm water in my ear with a loosening solution, had me hold a receptacle under the side of my face for a specified number of minutes, then came back and turned my head to empty out the solution with little clumps of wax floating in it.

“All clear,” she said, and, if necessary, turned my head the other way and did the other ear.

Since the procedure did not require a physician, I could come in at anytime without an appointment. I got to know all the nurses.

Then there was a young doctor new to the staff who was assigned to me. He may have been given me because I rarely get sick.

Looking in my ear, he saw the wax blocking the eardrum. He drew a probe, like a blunted needle, from his chest pocket, and worked around the edges of the wax, loosening it. He was very careful. He withdrew a fairly sizeable ball of wax skewered on the end of his probe and presented it in triumph for my inspection.

I was very impressed, and said so. He blushed with pride and said, “I’m always happy when I can help a patient feel better.”

I should mention, because it’s relevant, my visit to the audiologist. I think it was the result of my doctor covering the bases, leaving no stone unturned, no ear untested.

The audiologist, in her little domain, an out-of-the-way corner office, was a brusque, grumpy woman who may not have had lunch and was in no good mood. I had the impression that she didn’t get much business, and felt she didn’t get much respect as a lower order of doctor. Her empire consisted of a small antechamber with a chair, a glass window, and a door leading to the other side.

I was to sit in the chair, apply headphones, and hold a button device I was to push as soon as I heard anything.

She sat on the other side of the window and monitored the procedure.

I heard a faint sound. I pushed the button. The sound got louder. I pushed the button.

The sound got louder and louder, I pushed and pushed, I feared for my eardrums and tore the headphones off.

She rushed in, angry, and yelled, “You were supposed to push the button!”

“I did!” I yelled back.

She checked the mechanism and muttered, “Oh, it wasn’t connected.”

I didn’t stay. I had heard enough.

That was many years ago.

Now, in the Bay Area, a new doctor establishing the base lines, sent me to the local audiologist. I told her my story. She laughed. “We aren’t like that anymore.”

She showed me a catalog of hearing aides. My inability to hear the upper registers is less than desirable. I may have refrained from joking, “What? What?” But, knowing me, I may not have restrained myself.

The catalog ranged from the very expensive, the Rolls Royce of hearing aides, to the less expensive models for the common man. “If you choose the less expensive model, we’ll cover the cost.”

“Thank you. I’ll think about it.”

I keep getting periodic emails advertising a variety of hearing aides. Maybe someday, but not yet. I can’t hear the crickets at night, but I can hear the frogs.

Awhile back, there was a flurry of commercials about a new invention, a kind of soft rubber ear screw, like Archimedes’ device for lifting water. You screw it into your ear and it collects the wax. The flexible tip bends aside if it hits the eardrum, so no danger of puncture or even a scratch. Physician tested, doctor approved. Available for purchase on line (and maybe in stores near you, I don’t remember the details). Obviously the inventor had patented the device, started a company, and was drumming up business.

That commercial flooded the airwaves, then seems to have disappeared. I can think of several scenarios for why, but need not detail them here. I have not looked for the device in stores nor did I buy one, but I am tempted to try it.

Maybe someday.

Ear wax is an unlikely subject for discussion, and I don’t have much more to add. Maybe I should include that famous moment in the early Harry Potter movie when Harry (unless it was Ron?) shows Dumbledore (Richard Harris, the first of the movie Dumbledores) candy he had created with his magic wand but was reluctant to taste it. Dumbledore took one piece, popped it in his mouth, and said, “Alas…earwax.”

And why should I have embarked on this overlong saga about ear wax? Because the wax is back. I don’t know why, and it’s not as extreme.

So I guess earwax is all around us in unlikely places, and no wonder it’s come back to me, in lesser capaciousness, requiring a dig only every other day.

But no worries, history tells me it’ll go away again.

And that’s all I need to say about that.