In The Beginning

My very first hearing aids, back in the mid-90’s were an unusual “flesh” color, except I don’t know anyone who has flesh that color.  I’ve often wondered how the manufacturers arrived at that particular, unappealing tone.  They weren’t the “behind-the-ear” version that you see so often today.  They were chunky and completely filled up the opening in my ear.  My daughter-in-law described them as looking like little flesh-colored chickens, which was actually an accurate description.

After the initial fitting and adjustments, I left my audiologist’s office and walked to my car, just a few short steps away.  I kept hearing things – unfamiliar things – and I couldn’t quite tell what they were or from where they were coming.

It was a rainy day, and I happened to have worn a rain jacket.  I opened the car door, scooted in, shut the door behind me and began to hear the most unusual sounds.  Like someone was sanding a block of wood inside my car.  And little clicks that sounded like pieces of metal hitting the hard surfaces.  Then squeaks – like a mouse was under the seat.  I was totally befuddled, trying to figure out what all of these sounds were, hoping that unknown creatures had not invaded my car while I was in my audiologist’s office.

Suddenly, I realized that these are all sounds that I had not been noticing as my hearing had declined.  The sounds were, in reality, my rain jacket brushing on the car seat.  My keychain that hung off the side of my purse hitting the center console.  My water bottle rattling in the drink holder.  A piece of paper on the passenger seat, flapping in the breeze created by the air circulation system.  All normal sounds that a hearing person would barely notice.

And then I realized that this is what happens when you become hard of hearing.  You don’t realize, because it is so gradual, that over time you are missing more and more and more of the sounds of daily life.  It doesn’t even seem like a loss, because it’s impossible to notice as it is happening.  It was at this point, that day in my car, that I made the decision to do everything I could to hear as well as modern technology would allow.  I didn’t want to slip into that state of giving up, of avoiding engagement, of resisting connection, all of which are so easy to do when you do not hear well.  To accept hearing loss and do the best you can anyway,  takes commitment, a willingness to be vulnerable, a decision to advocate for yourself, and a decision to attend to your hearing loss just as you would attend to any other physical malady you may have.  It may not be easy, but it is worth it.