Blood Makes Noise

This is another song in which Vega discusses a disease. In this case, tinnitus. This inner-ear malady's name shares a root with "tintinnabulation," or "the ringing of bells."

So yes, this is the disease that involves, as she says, "a ringing in my ears." To the accompaniment of clanging, thumping music, she describes the "noise" in her ears: "I'm standing in a windy tunnel."

There is a type of tinnitus that means the ear has become hypersensitive to electrical impulses in the body. But Vega here refers to the "pulsatile" version of the disorder, in which changes in either the blood flow or the ear make the heartbeat, the "pulse," more audible. Or, as she more bluntly puts it, "blood makes noise."

The song is presented as a one-way conversation between a patient and her doctor. However, it is almost impossible to discuss the disease because of the disease-- she can't hear her own words or his responses: "I'd like to give the information... I think you might want to know/ The details and the facts," she apologizes, but "I'm shouting through the roar... I can't really hear you."

In the end, the disease wins out. "Forget it Doc," the patient capitulates. "I think it's really cool that you're concerned/ But we'll have to try again after the silence has returned." Which, of course, it will not... on its own. The must be a medical intervention.

One would hope that they doctor would not be satisfied by his patient's frustration and agree to call it a day. First, there is reason to fear that the symptom indicates larger problem. If something is restricting the blood flow-- a clot, a tumor, some plaque, a kink in a blood vessel-- at least some scans are indicated.

Second, there is the patient's mental well-being. She is in denial, but has admitted to a "thickening" or increasing "of fear." The patient even blames the blood itself for causing her to forget what might have triggered the problem: "There's something in my blood/ [That] denies the memory of the acts."

Even without a doctor's training, the patient guesses there is a potentially larger issue at hand. What the patient needs is an advocate like the one in Vega's earlier song "Fifty-fifty Chance" who says: "I hate to ask, I need to know."

Let's hope the doctor has dealt with other patients whose hearing loss creates a communication barrier he or she has overcome. There are multiple solutions, the most obvious of which is a pen and paper. Taking turns typing on the doctor's laptop might even be faster and more legible to both parties, as well as allowing for easy revisions and a record of the conversation.

The patient is sitting on the "butcher paper" in the exam room and is starting to babble with worry. A good doctor will wait, listen, then calmly respond, diffusing the stress and finding a way to communicate past the "noise" and the rising panic it is causing.


Next Song: In Liverpool