TINNITUS DROVE MY HUSBAND TO TAKE HIS OWN LIFE

Charity worker Linda Mitchell, 48, from Northampton, loved going to gigs with husband Glen. But after he developed tinnitus the noise in his head forced him into drastic action. She tells GILLIAN CRAWLEY their story

WHAT DREW me to Glen was his wicked sense of humour – well, that and the fact that he was so good-looking. It was 1988 and we met in a pub in north London, where we were both living. When Glen was in his early 40s, he retired as a firefighter because of a knee injury. His pension meant he didn’t need to work again but he studied and found new jobs. He basically just enjoyed himself.

We loved seeing live bands and in April 2011, on Easter Sunday, we went to a pub gig. Everyone knows that feeling when you walk out at the end of a gig with a bit of fuzziness in your ears – it’s usually gone when you wake up. But this particular night the volume was so loud it hurt, so we left early.

In the morning I felt OK but Glen still had pain and ringing in his ears. He couldn’t get a GP appointment for more than a week, so we googled his symptoms and everything pointed to tinnitus.

Glen was working in a Royal Mail sorting office at the time but he struggled so much with the noise – which he’d never noticed before – he had to go off sick. By the following weekend he was in so much distress I took him to Northampton General Hospital’s out of hours clinic. It was so loud he couldn’t bear it, so they made an appointment for the next day.

By then he was terrified that this painful squealing would never end. But the doctor said it probably was tinnitus and assured Glen it would go in a few days. It didn’t – and he also had fluttering sensations that felt like bugs flying in his head. He couldn’t sleep and paced the streets at 3am trying to exhaust himself.

“Will it ever go away?” he said to me. “Will I never hear quiet again?” After a two more weeks of suffering, he said, “If this was what life is going to be like, I’m going to end it.”

Panicked, I took him to the GP’s surgery and demanded an emergency appointment.We wanted to see an audiologist but the GP said Glen would have to take a hearing test first – another two weeks away. He was just broken.

By this time we were in separate rooms because he didn’t want to disturb me.At 9am, I went in with a coffee and found him barely conscious. He was lying on the bed with empty pill packets on the floor, so I called an ambulance. It was too late for a stomach pump and they told me he would probably die. But later that evening he began to murmur and

I felt hopeful he’d pull through.

All I could think was, “Please let this have reset his brain.” You know how when a computer goes wrong so you turn it off and on again? I hoped the shock of what had happened would make the noise go away.

But when he came to, the noises were still there. “Why didn’t you let me die?” he asked.

He was prescribed medication to help him sleep and a glimmer of the old Glen returned. He got an audiology appointment a week later and an explanation of what could be done. He was given ear devices that generate white noise to trick the brain to focus on something else and was told to give them time to take effect.

Glen went back to work but if there was a loud noise he’d have to go home. He stayed

in and got anxious and depressed.The tinnitus got worse and developed into hyperacusis, oversensitivity to everyday sounds. I encouraged him to follow a normal life like the doctors said but it felt like I was bullying him. H

IS MEDICATION was changed in June and the new drug made his tinnitus and anxiety worse. He had a referral to the mental health crisis team but everything was taking so long.At an appointment in July 2011, the GP said he just had to wait. I saw the light going out in Glen’s eyes. I wanted to scream, “Can’t you see he’s suicidal?” But I couldn’t bring myself to say the words.

A day later I came home from work to find Glen quite upbeat. It was his 53rd birthday in two days’ time and he said he’d arranged to stay with a mate and have a night out. I was suspicious that he might try to take his own life but he said. “You’re always telling me to get out and enjoy myself.That’s all I’m doing.”

In the end, I decided to believe him. I went to work the next day and when he called we chatted normally. But he didn’t answer any of my texts after that. I suspected what he’d done,

so I spoke to his friend. It was clear Glen had never planned anything with him.The next day there were officers waiting for me when I got home from work. “He’s dead, isn’t he?” I said.

Glen had been found in a Northampton hotel that morning. He’d left a note and later the coroner ruled he’d killed himself. I know Glen didn’t want to die. He just wanted to leave the hell of tinnitus behind.

Now I work full-time for Deafconnect, a charity in Northamptonshire, supporting people with hearing problems.Tinnitus affects more than seven million people in the UK and at least 850,000 of them have the same life-destroying symptoms as Glen.We campaign to raise awareness and encourage doctors and the people responsible for research funding to take the condition more seriously.

I miss Glen every day.At first, I couldn’t bear to listen to the music we liked. He loved Pink Floyd and it was only last year that I got brave enough to see a local show about the band. Not having him there broke my heart. I lost our past with him because it hurt so much to do those things – and I lost our future too.

If you are having problems or want to talk to someone anonymously, you can call Samaritans, 24 hours a day, on 116 123.