Lately, a lot of my Boomer friends have been complaining that they seem to be losing their hearing. Many of them seem too vain to check into getting hearing aids, so I’ve been on a mission to show them that seeking help for a hearing deficiency is no different from buying glasses when you can’t see well. For me, being “hearing impaired” has nothing to do with getting older.
I’ve been very hard of hearing almost as long as I can remember. The first time my parents realized it was a serious enough problem to seek medical help, I was 13 and entering high school. They took me to an audiologist in Brunswick, GA, who was associated with Easter Seals. He confirmed that my hearing wasn’t normal and suggested I wear a hearing aid.
Back then, in 1970, hearing aids came in a flesh tone and one size fit all. I wore it behind my right ear for about two weeks and decided I’d rather be deaf. It was uncomfortable and as far as I could tell it didn’t help at all. Everything was louder, but it wasn’t any easier to understand.
“Give it a chance!” my parents encouraged. “You just need to get used to it.”
I didn’t see why I should have to accommodate something that was supposed to help me. Shouldn’t it be the other way around? I quickly discarded the aid and began to find other ways to compensate for my hearing loss. I became quite good at lip reading. In fact, I’ve carried on entire conversations with people whose voice I never heard. Little did I realize I was developing a pattern as a young teen that would become both an asset and a liability over the years.
On the plus side, I was able to use my real deafness to practice selective hearing. I could avoid arguments, ignore requests and plead innocence with the simple phrase, “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.” Of course, the down side was that I missed a lot of whispered jokes, compliments, warnings and even criticisms I never responded to.
When I turned 40, my eyesight began to wane, so lip reading became more difficult. Now I had the combined problem of not only not hearing, but not knowing what I was not hearing.
In 2003, I found myself working in an environment that was primarily male, I knew I had no choice but to take action. My hearing loss is in the lower ranges, so men are especially hard to hear. Since I was spending my days dealing with men, I became more and more concerned about what I might be missing. I found myself in constant fear that they might be saying I was “hot” and I was answering “That’s just not true!” because I believed they were calling me a “snot.”
So when I saw an ad in the Sunday paper promoting customized digital hearing aids, I decided it was time to act. Three days later I found myself sitting in an anechoic chamber with earphones on repeating words and word patterns on request. I also lifted my index finger whenever I heard beeps and before I knew it, a computer spit out a graph that showed in red and blue just how deaf I was. Not surprisingly, the results indicated I was even deafer than I realized. I would need two hearing aids.
It has been two years now since the day that I picked them up and boy, has my world changed. I now have super hearing. I’m hearing all kinds of things for the first time and understanding other things I thought I had heard correctly. It’s both a blessing and a curse. I’ve been wondering why anyone would want to hear some of the things I’ve only recently become aware of, like jets flying overhead, or neighborhood dogs barking.
For the most part, hearing turns out to be a good thing, but it has its downside as well.
Now I find myself facing what I call “retro-mortification.” It’s the realization of understanding how very wrong I’ve been about a lot of things, based solely on the way I heard them for so many years. People were either too kind to correct me or perhaps they thought I was unbalanced and didn’t want to risk agitating me.
For instance,
I’ve discovered:
– My neighbors are actually named Mick and Jean, not Dick and Jane, which I’ve called them for 10 years, all the while laughing behind their backs at how embarrassing it must be to be named for reading primers. Now I understand why they never even smiled when I’d ask, “Where’s your dog, Spot?” Turns out his name is Hops, which seems more appropriate for a three-legged dog.
– Farts CAN be heard. All these years I’ve thought I was discreetly “tooting” on occasion only to now learn I’ve thundered all over the country. The first time I really heard one I immediately blushed and no one was even around to see it. My mind raced to remember who I might have unintentionally offended since the early 70’s. Imagine trying to recall each fart for over 30 years. It’s just not possible. I’ll let it go.
– I need to ask forgiveness of Credence Clearwater Revival. They were a hugely popular band when I was in high school and their biggest hit was “Bad Moon Rising.” For 30+ years, I’ve been singing “There’s a bathroom on the right,” all the while thinking, “those are the dumbest lyrics I’ve ever heard, but it sure is a catchy tune.”
– Nobody really calls me during Law and Order, even though I used to answer the phone during every episode. Apparently, whenever the cops are at the police station, there’s always a ringing phone in the background. Obviously, this is supposed to make the scenario seem more real. It’s a little too real, if you ask me.
– I now “get” Cialis commercials. For three years I’ve been wondering why there was a need to advertise reptile dysfunction. I’ve thought it odd that we saw nary a snake nor lizard in a single commercial. More puzzling, though, was the very fact that reptiles could have a dysfunction and anyone would care, never mind dance around at the idea that a medication could apparently cure their problem.
Each day brings a new discovery. I’m determined to stick with the hearing aids this time because I realize that even though in some ways the world may seem less interesting now, it also seems more “new” somehow too. And with everything that has been going on in the world recently, I’d say new is good.
