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If you have tinnitus and the ringing is the loudest thing in the house at 2am, and your doctor's answer was to TURN THE NOISE UP… I'm begging you, please read this before you go to sleep tonight. Because that's exactly what mine told me 3 weeks before I woke up deaf in my left ear. My hearing test was normal for my age, he said. There was nothing he could find or do. But what nobody told me is that "normal for your age" just means you can still hear the beeps. Getting old didn't take my hearing that night. What that ringing had been trying to tell me every single night for 6 years did. I've had tinnitus for 6 years. I was 58 when I finally asked a doctor about the ringing. 34 years at the Ford engine plant in Lima will do that to you, is what everybody told me. My dad had it. Half the guys I retired with have it. For the last 2 years, that ringing has pretty much run my nights. I sleep with a box fan on high, right next to the bed. Even in January. My wife Penny sleeps in a sweatshirt because of it. At 2am I'm lying there listening to it. It sounds like locusts on an August night, except there's no August and no locusts. Just me and the ceiling. I'd turn the fan up and finally drift off. Then I'd wake up at 4 and it'd be right back on top of me. Like a radio somebody left on between stations. During the day it's the TV at 40. It's Penny saying everything twice, and me saying "huh?" until I quit asking and just nod. I was doing everything I was told. I cut back to 1 cup of coffee. Cut the salt. Downloaded the meditation app the doctor wrote on a sticky note. He put me on amitriptyline at bedtime to help me sleep through it. On my own I took Lipo-Flavonoid, 2 caplets 3 times a day, for 5 straight months, because the box said it takes a while. Ginkgo after that. Magnesium after that. I even did a hearing aid trial. $4,780 for the pair. They made the TV clearer and did absolutely nothing for the ringing, so they went back. The place kept $640 as a restocking fee. None of it made a real difference. I'd cover it up. It'd come back. Cover it again. Come back again. But about 4 months ago the ringing changed. Same ringing. Same locusts. But now I could hear it over the fan. That fan had covered it for 6 years. I turned it up to high, then I moved it closer to my head, and I could still hear the ringing sitting right on top of it. I started keeping a notebook on the nightstand. Just a mark for every night I could hear it over the fan. 19 out of 21 nights. I brought that notebook to my ENT, Dr. Yeager. He barely glanced at it. "Tinnitus doesn't have a cure, Rudy. Your hearing test is normal for your age. There's nothing we can find or do." "I know, but it's louder than the fan now—" "Then turn the noise up louder and you won't notice it. Learn to live with it. Anything else?" That was it. Moved on to the next thing on his checklist. So I went home. And I believed him. He's the doctor. If my test is normal for my age, it's normal for my age. Maybe I'd just gotten pickier about the fan. 3 weeks later I woke up around 5 in the morning. But this time wasn't like the other times. The room was spinning. I went to sit up and the whole left side of the world was gone. No fan. No furnace. No Penny. Just a roar, like my head was stuck inside a jet engine. Penny was shaking my shoulder. I could see her lips moving and I couldn't hear 1 word coming out of them. I grabbed the dresser to stand up and nearly took it down with me. She told me later my face had gone gray and I kept saying "my ear, my ear" way too loud. She thought I was having a stroke. She called 911. I sat on the edge of the bed in my underwear, watching my wife talk to a dispatcher I couldn't hear. And all I could think was, this is it. This is how the rest of my life sounds. (Keep in mind that was the same ringing my doctor told me to drown out with a fan.) At the ER they did a CT scan for a stroke. Clean. They gave me a big dose of prednisone, called it "sudden hearing loss," and told me to get to an ENT for a hearing test first thing in the morning. That's the whole explanation I got. Sudden. Like it came out of nowhere. The next morning I was back in Dr. Yeager's office, in the little soundproof booth where they put the headphones on you and you push the button when you hear the beep. The girl running the test was named Leah. Young. Couldn't have been older than 30. Ponytail, a gray cardigan over her scrubs. She wasn't my doctor. She's the one who runs the beeps. But when the test was over she took my headphones off, rolled her chair out of the booth, and sat right down in front of me, knee to knee. Not in a rush. Not already halfway out the door like every doctor I'd seen for 6 years. She asked me what the ringing was like at night. I told her. Locusts. 6 years of it. But lately it's louder than the fan. She pulled up my chart and found the test from my last visit. The one Dr. Yeager had called normal for my age. "And what did he say about the ringing?" "He said my test was normal for my age. Turn the noise up." She nodded slowly. "He's right that your last test was normal for your age. That's what this test is built to check. Can you still hear the beep." "But it can't tell you whether your ear is being fed. The ringing can. And when it gets louder than your fan, it's telling you your ear is getting hungrier." She said a normal test and a healthy ear are 2 completely different things. "Inside your ear there are about 15,000 tiny cells that turn sound into something your brain can hear. They're some of the hungriest cells in your whole body. They burn through blood all day long." "And they get all of it through 1 artery about as thin as a thread. There's no backup. No second road in." She said that's where the real problem starts. Because when that thread of an artery stops opening all the way, those cells don't just shut off. They start to starve. A little more every night. And a starving cell doesn't go quiet. It misfires, over and over, and your brain hears all those misfires as ringing. "The ringing you've been hearing? That's them. That's what a starving ear sounds like." "Your fan covered it. So every night it got a little louder, and every night you turned the fan up and slept right through it. Yesterday morning it ran out." I asked her why it never stops. Why it's there every single night, 6 years running. She asked me what a smoke alarm does when there's smoke in the house. It goes off. It's supposed to. "That's what tinnitus is. It's not a noise. It's an alarm. Your ear is starving and it's screaming about it." She said it doesn't matter what started it. For a lot of guys it was a plant floor. Sometimes a shotgun, or a chainsaw, or 30 years of mowing without earmuffs. Whatever it was beat up those cells, and the ones that were left needed more blood than they were getting. "That's why you can retire from the plant and it still gets louder every year. The noise is gone. The starving isn't." You'd want that alarm, she said. It's how your ear tells you something's wrong. You'd be in real trouble without it. "But yours never shuts off. Because the ear's still starving." She asked me what I'd been doing about it. I told her about the fan. The TV. The app. She shook her head, real gentle. "That fan is a pillow over a smoke alarm. Turning the noise up is a bigger pillow. You can stack pillows on it all night long. The house is still full of smoke." Then she asked me something I wasn't expecting. She asked what else I'd tried. I told her. The Lipo-Flavonoid. The ginkgo. The magnesium. The hearing aids. Probably $912 in pills over the years, not counting the hearing aids. She nodded like she expected that answer. "More pillows. Every one of them works on the sound. Not 1 of them gets any more blood to that ear." Then she told me something about herself. She grew up in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, and married a guy from Wapakoneta, which is how she ended up in Lima. Her grandfather is Amish. His name is Elam, and he ran a sawmill outside Strasburg for 55 years. A diesel saw. Screaming all day long, 6 days a week. And he never once wore earmuffs. "He's 84," she said. "He can still hear the propane lantern hissing from across the shop." She said it drove her crazy all through school. She'd sit in class learning exactly what a saw like that does to an ear. Then she'd go home, wait until he shut the saw off for the day, stand at the far end of the mill, and say his name barely above a whisper. And he'd turn around. It took her years to work out what was different about him. Then one fall, when she was already in school for this, she just asked him. He was standing at the saw. She waited until he shut it off. "How come you can stand next to that thing your whole life and still hear me whisper? There are men 20 years younger than you who can't hear their own wife across the supper table." He didn't answer her. He wiped his hands on his pants and said, "Come with me." He took her up the ladder to the loft over the mill, where they dry things. It was dim up there and it smelled like sawdust. And hanging from the rafters, row after row, were roots. Long and dark, almost black. Nothing like the round red beets at the grocery store. He cut one open with his pocketknife and held it out to her. The inside was so red it looked like it was bleeding. He told her his family had been growing that beet for over 150 years, from seed they saved by hand every fall. His father ate it every day. So did his grandfather. "I couldn't tell you how it works," he said. "I only know what I was told. It heals the blood." Not just the ears, he said. The heart. The joints. It's why the old men who run the saws in his district still hear fine at 80, when everybody else's grandfather has the TV up loud enough to rattle the windows. I just looked at her. "A beet?" I honestly thought she was pulling my leg. "I know how it sounds. I thought the same thing standing up in that loft." But she said she went back to school and looked it up, and there's real research behind it. That deep red has a name. Betalain. And it does the 1 thing nothing I was taking does. It goes after what's choking that artery. "Your fan covers the alarm. This goes after what's starving your ear." And her grandfather had been eating it every day of his life, right next to that saw. "Why hasn't Dr. Yeager told me about any of this?" She kind of smiled. "Nobody can write you a prescription for a beet. There's no money in it." She looked at the door. Then back at me. "I'm not really supposed to tell you this kind of thing." Then she printed out that old test, the one that said I was normal for my age, flipped it over, and wrote on the back for a minute. "Some of this is what my grandfather told me. Some of it I had to learn the hard way. Not every beet is that beet." She folded it in half and put it in my hand. "One more thing. If you do this, it's going to have loud days. It doesn't fade in a straight line. Don't quit on a loud day. And you didn't hear any of this from me." I stuck the paper in my shirt pocket with the rest of the paperwork. Penny drove us home around noon. She tried to tell me something in the car and I had to ask her 3 times. She finally just patted my knee. I couldn't sit still. My left ear was full of that roar, and every time I closed my eyes I was back on the edge of the bed watching her lips move. So I sat at the kitchen table with the iPad and looked up everything Leah had said. Honestly, I was hoping she was wrong. A beet is a lot to hang your hearing on. She wasn't wrong. The ear really does run on 1 tiny artery with no backup. And people with heart and blood vessel trouble lose their hearing faster than everybody else. The ear goes when the blood goes. Then I read about everything I'd been doing. That's the part that made me mad. The fan covers the ringing so your brain stops listening for it. The meditation app trains you to stop caring that it's there. The amitriptyline is an old antidepressant. It doesn't touch your ear at all. It just dulls how much your brain reacts to the noise so you can sleep through it. The hearing aids turn the world up so the ringing sits a little lower underneath it. And the Lipo-Flavonoid is mostly lemon bioflavonoids and B vitamins. Nothing in it opens up that artery. Every one of them works on the sound. Not 1 of them touches what's making it. Cover the alarm. Miss the starving. Call it learning to live with it. That's what I'd been doing for 6 years. I sat there and counted it up. 6 years. Fan every night. Amitriptyline every bedtime. 5 months of caplets 3 times a day, and I never missed one. I thought I was handling it. I wasn't handling anything. I was stacking pillows on the alarm while my ear starved underneath it. And the morning before, I'd woken up deaf in 1 ear, with all of it in my system. I went out and sat in the truck in the garage so Penny wouldn't see me. I'm not too proud to say I cried. Not because I was scared. Because nobody had told me. Then I read about the beet. Betalain is real. It's what stains your cutting board and turns your fingers pink. But it's not just a color. The lining of your blood vessels is what makes them open and close. Age wears that lining down. So does blood pressure, and so do years of breathing plant air. A worn-out lining gets stiff and inflamed, and a stiff lining quits making the signal that opens the vessel up. Betalain gets carried right into that lining and calms the inflammation that's making it quit. That's job 1. It calms the lining. Job 2 is that signal. Doctors call it nitric oxide. It's what tells your blood vessels to relax and open so blood can get through, and it's what holds that thread of an artery to your ear open. But you make about 10% less of it every year after 40. By 55 you're making about half of what you used to. That's why the starving starts getting worse right around the age you retire. The same root is loaded with nitrates. Your body turns those into nitrite, and then into that exact same signal, nitric oxide. And it does it through a whole different route, one that doesn't depend on that worn-out lining. Calm the lining. Bring back the signal. 1 root does both. And once the ear is getting fed again, the alarm can finally quit. By then it was getting dark and I was wrung out. Leah's paper was still folded up in my shirt pocket, and the shirt was in the hamper. I figured a beet is a beet. I typed in "beetroot capsules," ordered the first ones that came up, and went to bed. That was a mistake. I took them for 2 weeks and nothing happened. Same fan. Same 2am. Same locusts. When the prednisone ran out, Dr. Yeager had me back in the booth. Leah was off that day, so another girl ran it. On the part where they read you words and you repeat them back, my left ear got 64% of them, the same as the morning after the ER. "Whatever was coming back would have come back by now," Dr. Yeager said. I started thinking I'd been had on the beets too. I was this close to asking for my money back. I went looking for the packing slip. Penny had emptied my shirt pockets before she washed it and stuck everything in the junk drawer with the mail. I dug the packing slip out of there, and underneath it was Leah's paper. I'd never even unfolded it. On the back of my old hearing test, in Leah's handwriting, were 4 things. Heirloom Blutwurzel. Shade-dried, no heat. 1,300 mg a serving, no blends. Lab report posted. And at the bottom, underlined twice: RED = the real thing. BROWN = dead. Overheated. I twisted 1 of my capsules open over a white saucer. Brown. Dull brown dust. Like dirt off a boot. I'd been swallowing that for 2 weeks. So I went down her list, and I looked up why each thing mattered. There are 4 things to check, and my bottle failed every one. The first is heirloom Blutwurzel. It means "blood root" in German. That's the old seed, the one Amish families in Lancaster County have been saving by hand for over 150 years. The grocery store beet has been bred for sugar for a century. Bigger and sweeter. And every time they bred it for sugar, they bred the betalain down. The old one has 10 to 20 times more. My bottle never said what kind of beet was in it. The second is shade-dried, no heat. Heat kills betalain. That's why you can't just boil a pot of beets for supper and get the same thing. Boil 1 until it turns gray and you just watched it die. Almost every company spray-dries their powder at high heat because it's fast. That's the brown dust on my saucer. The Amish hang the roots in the shade after the first frost and let them dry slow, for weeks. Same as up in Elam's loft. The third is 1,300 mg a serving, no blends. That's the amount that actually does something. Mine said "proprietary blend," which means they don't have to tell you how much beet is even in there. The fourth is a lab report, posted. From an independent lab, with the certificate right on the website where anybody can read it. Mine had nothing. Finding 1 that passed took me most of a night. I started with Amazon, because that's where I'd bought the first ones. I went through the first 3 pages of beetroot capsules, bottle by bottle, with her paper next to me. Not 1 said what kind of beet was in it. Half said "proprietary blend." A couple bragged about "extra strength," which told me nothing. I couldn't find a lab report on a single one. Then I tried the health food store sites. Nicer labels. Higher prices. Same story. Not 1 was heirloom Blutwurzel. Not 1 was shade-dried. By midnight I'd decided Leah's beet just wasn't something you could buy. That you had to have an Amish grandfather with a sawmill. Then I typed the word off her note into the search bar. Blutwurzel. 1 company came up. Rosabella. I went down the list with my finger on the paper. Heirloom Blutwurzel, grown by Amish families in Lancaster County. The same county Leah grew up in. Shade-dried after the first frost, never heated. 1,300 mg in every serving, and nothing else in there to stretch it. And the lab report was right there on the site, from an independent lab, where I could read it myself. All 4. The Lancaster County families control the supply, and they sell through that 1 website. That's why I'd never seen it anywhere else. I still almost didn't order it. I'd already thrown money at 1 bottle of beet capsules and gotten nothing. I'd thrown $912 at Lipo-Flavonoid and ginkgo before that. Penny walked through the kitchen, saw the screen, and said, "Another one?" She wasn't being mean. She'd watched me try everything for 6 years. She'd said everything twice for 6 years. What got me was the guarantee. 90 days. If it didn't work, I could send the bottles back, even empty, and get every penny back. The hearing aid place kept $640 of mine for trying. So I told her, "If this one's dead too, I get my money back. If it's not, I get to hear you." She didn't say anything. She just turned the TV down. I ordered it that night. When it came, the first thing I did was twist a capsule open over the same saucer. Deep crimson. Almost violet. I touched a drop of water to it and the red ran across the white like a fresh cut. I took my 2 capsules with breakfast. About 20 minutes later I felt warmth moving down my arms and into my hands. Then across my chest. Not a jolt. Not like coffee. Just warm. I never felt anything like that on the brown ones. That's not your ears, by the way. That's the blood moving. The ears take longer. Then I waited. And I'll be honest, the waiting was the hardest part. Week 1, nothing changed that I could point to. Same fan on high. Same 2am. Twice I twisted a capsule open just to make sure it was still red. Week 2, it seemed a little quieter at night. Maybe. I didn't trust it. I'd fooled myself before. But 1 night I lay there until almost 1am before I even reached for the fan. I didn't say a word to Penny. I didn't want to jinx it. Then around the end of week 3 I had 2 quiet days in a row. Quietest in years. And the morning after, I woke up and it was screaming. Louder than before the ER. Locusts on top of locusts. I was crushed. I had my phone in my hand to cancel the next bottle. Then I remembered Leah sitting knee to knee with me in that booth. "It's going to have loud days. Don't quit on a loud day." So I kept going. For about a week it went up and down like that. A loud day, then 2 quieter ones. A loud day, then 3. Penny asked me if something was wrong. I told her no. I think it's working, it just doesn't know it yet. She looked at me like I'd lost it. But every loud day was a little less loud than the last one. And every quiet stretch lasted a little longer. By week 4 the locusts had thinned out. It was more like a few crickets way off across a field. By week 5 it was down under the hum of the furnace. Not because the fan was covering it. Because there was hardly anything left to cover. Then 1 morning I woke up and just lay there for a second. Something was different. The fan was off. I never turned it on. I don't even remember going to bed without it. I only noticed because I heard the furnace click on down the hall. First time in YEARS. I went the whole morning without hearing that ringing once. I didn't even realize it until lunch. I'm not kidding you, that constant thing sitting in the back of my head, the thing I'd heard every night for 6 years no matter how loud I turned the fan up, it was just about completely fucking gone. I went back to Dr. Yeager 2 months in, and Leah ran my hearing test again. Same booth. Same headphones. On the part where they read you the words, my left ear had been stuck at 64%. This time it got 88%. On the highest beeps, the squeaky ones, my left ear used to need them turned up to 60 before I caught them. This time it caught them at 40. And when Leah matched how loud my ringing was against her machine, it had come down by more than half. Dr. Yeager looked at the numbers. Then he looked at the old ones. Then back at the new ones. "What have you been doing differently?" He actually stood up from his chair. I told him about the beet. "I've never told a patient to take a beet in my life," he said. "But I'm looking at the numbers." He wrote it down in my chart and told me to keep doing whatever I'm doing. Then he did something I never thought I'd see in that office. He took me off the amitriptyline. Right there. Said with numbers like these he didn't see why I needed it. And he told me I could forget about trying hearing aids again until my next test. 6 years of adding things. That was the first time anybody took 1 away. The notebook is still in my nightstand. The fan is sitting in the closet, just in case. I honestly can't tell you the last time I plugged it in. Opening morning of deer season I was up in my stand before light. I heard a doe walking in the leaves before I ever saw her. I just sat there and listened to her come. I didn't plan it. Didn't brace myself for it. I just heard. Penny did something the other night that broke me. I was out in the garage and she said my name from the kitchen door, regular voice, and I answered her. She came out and stood there. "I haven't had to yell for you in 6 years," she said. "I forgot what that was like." I didn't know she'd been keeping track. My buddy Butch from the Thursday breakfast at the VFW noticed before I said anything. He drove a forklift at the plant for 30 years. He wears 2 hearing aids and still sits at the end of the table so his good ear faces everybody. He grabbed me in the parking lot after breakfast 1 morning. "Okay, what's going on with you. You haven't said 'huh' once in 2 weeks." So I told him everything. The ER. Leah. The alarm. The pillows. The brown dust on my saucer. All of it. Showed him the notebook. He ordered it that night. 3 weeks later he grabbed my arm before we even got in the door. "The loud days. I'm getting the loud days. You were right." By week 6 his fan was in the closet too. His daughter called me to say he'd heard his granddaughter on speakerphone without asking her to repeat herself once. Butch told the guy who runs the hearing aid center on Elida Road, where he gets his batteries. That guy pulled me aside the next time I rode along with Butch and asked about it too. Last month he ordered a case of them. He keeps them behind the counter now, and gives them to customers who come in about the ringing. A man who sells hearing aids for a living. The first one he gave them to was a guy named Odell. 74. Retired forge-shop hammer operator, 40 years next to drop hammers. 2 hearing aids, and his wife had to come with him to every appointment to repeat what the man said. He never said much. He'd just sit there nodding at things he didn't catch. About a month later his wife caught me in the hearing aid place while I was waiting on Butch. She had tears in her eyes before she got a word out. "We were driving to church Sunday and he reached over and shut off the turn signal," she said. "He heard it clicking. I've been shutting that blinker off for him for 9 years." Last week Odell came in by himself. I'm not saying this is going to cure everybody's ringing, but mine hasn't climbed back over the fan since. If you have tinnitus and your doctor told you your test is normal for your age and to turn the noise up, be careful. That was the most dangerous thing anyone ever told me. That ringing isn't nothing. It's an alarm. And it's getting louder every night you cover it. And nothing I was taking was ever going to stop it. The fan covered it. The amitriptyline dulled it. The hearing aids turned the world up over it. And my ear starved underneath all of it, every night, while I slept next to a box fan thinking I was handling it. If you've read this far, I think I know who you are. You're the one lying there at 2am with the fan on high, trying not to wake anybody. You've got the TV at 40, and you've quit saying "huh" and started just nodding. You've stopped bringing it up at your appointments, because every time you do, somebody tells you to learn to live with it and moves on. You're me, before that morning. Here's what I'd tell the man I was then. Stop waiting for your doctor to find it. He isn't looking for it. He's looking at whether you heard the beep, and you did. Nobody is coming to tell you. A girl in a cardigan who runs the hearing test told me, and she wasn't even supposed to. And only because I woke up deaf first. Think about what you're spending right now. The Lipo-Flavonoid. The ginkgo. The amitriptyline. The specialist co-pays. The $640 the hearing aid place kept for aids that did nothing for the ringing. None of that ever came with a refund. Nobody ever promised me I'd get better. They promised to help me live with it. Rosabella has a 90-day money-back guarantee. If your nights don't get quieter, if you're still sleeping next to that fan, if your next hearing test doesn't show it, you send the bottles back and get every penny back. No argument. No fine print. 6 years of fans and pills never offered me a dollar back. Right now they're running buy one, get one free. It's only on their website. It's not on Amazon and it's not at any pharmacy, and there are already knockoffs on Amazon using the same kind of words on the same dead brown powder I threw out. Your ear doesn't take a night off. It starved a little more last night while your fan ran. It's going to starve again tonight. And every night you can hear it over the fan, that's the alarm telling you so. Please don't wait for a morning like mine. EDIT: keep getting messages asking exactly what I used. It's called Rosabella. Heirloom Blutwurzel beetroot capsules. Here's the link: https://track.tryrosabella.com/cdc16426-3e48-40a7-9fad-21098084f6cf Fair warning, they're a small company and they sell out. It's 1 seed line, grown by a handful of Amish families, harvested once a year after the first frost and dried slow. When a season's batch is gone, it's gone until the next harvest. If the buy one, get one free is still up when you click, grab it. P.S. A lot of you are asking if you can take it with your other medications. Yes. That's how I started. I didn't stop a single thing on my own. Dr. Yeager took me off the amitriptyline after he saw my numbers, and that's the only way to do it. Do not stop any medication on your own, and if you wear hearing aids, keep wearing them. Start Rosabella alongside whatever you take, then get your next hearing test and let your doctor make the call when he sees the numbers. And if you ever wake up and can't hear out of 1 ear, don't wait it out. Go. About the loud days: Butch and I both got them. Not everybody does. Some people just notice the fan going lower every week. Either way it means the ear is getting fed. If the loud days do come, don't quit at week 3 like I almost did. That's it turning around. P.P.S. You'll feel something in the first 20 minutes. Not a jolt, not coffee. Warmth moving down your arms and into your hands. That's not the ear benefit. That takes weeks, and it shows up in the booth on a hearing test, not at your kitchen table. What you feel that fast is the blood moving. And if you want to know whether you've got the real thing before you swallow it, twist a capsule open over a white saucer. The wrong ones are brown dust. Rosabella is deep crimson, almost violet, and a drop of water makes it bleed red. That color is the betalains, and it means they made it into the capsule. The feeling isn't the proof. The hearing test is the proof. P.P.P.S. If you're the wife or the daughter reading this. If he's sleeping next to a box fan with the TV at 40 and you're tired of saying everything twice, put the capsules by his coffee. Don't argue with him. Don't send him studies. You don't have to win the argument. You just have to get the bottle in the house. Butch's daughter did exactly that with his second order. He came to breakfast last week and sat in the middle of the table. First time since I've known him. https://track.tryrosabella.com/cdc16426-3e48-40a7-9fad-21098084f6cf

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