I'm home now, after a couple of hours in the emergency room.
The CAT scan says there's nothing interesting going on in my brain. (Sorry. Couldn't resist. But I'm awfully happy to be capable of even a musty old joke.)
I'm guessing, along with the ER doctor, that my hearing will return to normal. It seems to be improving marginally already -- though I still "hear" a little *boing* with each step I take, and people talking to me sound like they do when you talk underwater to someone. When it happened, I could hear almost nothing; you'd have had to lean into my ear and yell at me, if you wanted to be understood. I'm sure the giant goose-egg on my head will go back down.
So things are looking up.
It happened on the 5th hole at Braemar Golf Course in Edina, Minnesota, this morning. The 5th is a dogleg left, adjacent and to the right of the dogleg-left No. 15. The holes are "separated" by a bunch of fairly large deciduous trees, and a few evergreens -- put there, I'm guessing, in the interest of safety.
I hit a smothered-hook piece of crap drive into the left rough, in among the trees; tried to make too much of my 2nd and clipped a pine tree, which knocked my ball down into the rough; punched a hybrid out to the right and down the fairway, heard my partner yell "Well, you're out!" ... and then ... WHAM.
I looked at my hybrid, thinking that the head had flown off and conked me.
I could hear almost nothing -- but my three companions, 30 yards to the right, had heard the ball hit the back of my head (upper left), and they came to aid me.
Turned out, of course, that one of the group on 15 had pushed or sliced a shot into the trees -- and, presumably not seeing me, hadn't uttered even a peep of a FORE!
Those trees, I have just learned, are a hazard to health. If they weren't there, any golfer worthy of the name would have yelled FORE!; I would have covered up my head; and life would have gone on.
When the course manager calls to check in on me, he's going to get a lecture about those trees.