The grandkids chattered and laughed happily in the back of the SUV. I did the same in the driver’s seat. Problem was, I didn’t hear a word they said. The same thing happened when I sat in a chamber of commerce luncheon and, like everyone else, nodded in approval when the speaker struck an emotional chord, though I had no idea what they said.
When you don’t hear so well, you do things like that. You play along. You fake it and hope you don’t get caught, though inevitably you do get caught. You tick people off, too, especially family members, when you ask at the dinner table, “What did you say?” for about the 10th time.
When you are a journalist, not hearing well really stinks. To cover it up, when I had to write about a meeting or interview I’d record it on my phone then play it back on my Bose noise-cancelling earbuds. At the meeting, when everyone else nodded in agreement, I’d nod in agreement. I’d laugh at jokes everyone heard but me.
Being hard of hearing can be frustrating for me and angering for others. About one in eight Americans age 12 and over have hearing loss in both ears. So why do me and countless other people live with hearing loss when perhaps we don’t have to?
Well, when I was a kid going to the Central Church of Christ in Caruthersville, there was an old man who sat several rows in front of us with gigantic hearing aids. On most Sundays, those hearing aids would malfunction and make an awful shrill, high-pitched noise that sounded a lot like the sound of microphone feedback. You know that noise.
I didn’t want to be that old man. So, every time my family, friends or anyone else who ran meetings tried to talk me into getting my hearing checked, I dug my heels in. Whether it was because of the old man in church or vanity, I figured I was better off in my own silent world.
Then came a revelation. I heard about a guy who couldn’t hear well and got his ears professionally cleaned. Voila. He could hear again. Maybe that would work for me. So after a month or two of procrastination and chickening out, I called audiology services at Phelps Health and told them I wanted a professional ear cleaning. They said I could come in the next week. . . . So soon?
I walked into the testing room and was met by Jennifer Bremer. “I am expecting a miracle,” I told her. She laughed and after looking in my ears told me they were perfectly clear and that I was suffering from hearing loss, not dirty ears.
I immediately started playing the blame game. Led Zeppelin deserves part of the blame, because they were really loud when I saw them at the Mid-South Coliseum in Memphis sometime in the 1970s. Same thing goes for Elton John, ZZ Top, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Queen, Fleetwood Mac and all those other folks who sent me down the road to hard of hearing. There was also my 20-gauge shotgun that blasted in my right ear for a couple decades as I shot squirrels, rabbits, ducks and doves. The roar of the crowd at football games. My John Deere riding mower. And my sisters.
Jennifer assured me there were a lot of reasons I had to keep asking her, “What did you say?” She sent me to Dr. Larry Mazzeo and I finally got that miracle.
Mazzeo didn’t beat around the bush, but if I heard him right he said I needed some hearing aids and he was there to make it not only easy, but enjoyable. Enjoyable? I reluctantly agreed to test drive a pair and, you know what, they weren’t too bad. Hearing aids these days can be Bluetooth capable. Cool. I can listen to Led Zeppelin through them and the sound is as good or better than my Bose earbuds. I can answer my phone with them by tapping my right ear twice. (You get some interesting looks from strangers when you tap on your right ear twice and start talking). So far, there has been no shrill hearing-aid feedback.
I haven’t solved the vanity issue quite yet. When I talk to people, I try to look them straight on so they don’t get a side view of my ear and my hearing aids. I don’t walk away, I back away. But hearing aids of today aren’t the kind like the old man in church wore that you could see – and hear – from a mile away.
My grandkids love them. My family loves them. My employees love them even more. Me? I am getting used to them.
They come in useful for meetings. A few weeks ago I got bored with a meeting, grabbed my iPhone and inconspicuously listened to a little ZZ Top while nodding approval when everyone else nodded approval.
Monday morning I had my last visit to Dr. Mazzeo. The hearing aids have been fitted, adjusted with technology I never knew existed and paid for. Now comes the best part. Hearing.
To be honest, the hearing aids are a blessing I wish I had accepted a few years ago. I don’t know how many of the grandkids’ spoken gems I missed. How many I-love-you’s weren’t heard. When I walked out the back door and looked at the lake behind our house two mornings ago, I heard clearly the chirps of birds I had not heard in years. The wood floor creaks when I walk across it. The antique clock my dad bought in the 1960s still goes tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock.
