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The Day It Happened
Even living with another person’s hearing loss may not prepare you for your own. By Irene Goodman My hearing had been gradually declining. I knew that because I would hear ringing in my ears, and I knew what that meant. (Scary organ chord here.) It meant hearing loss. But I figured I’m still hearing, still on the phone, still talking to people—I can manage, right? This had been going on for several years. But one day, I missed at least half of what was said in a meeting in our conference room between all the crosstalk, rapid speech, laughter, trucks and horns on the street, room echo, and millennial slang, some of which goes right over my head.
Now he was grown and I was the one who didn’t know what to expect. I put on the hearing aids and they were turned on. At first—nothing. Then the audiologist asked me a question and I jumped. It’s not that it was too loud, but the extra volume and clarity were a jolt. At first I wasn’t sure I liked it. But over the next few days, I loved it. I learned that the hearing aids cannot yet be absolutely perfect, although technology keeps improving, and everyone’s hearing needs are unique. I might still miss something at a lively meeting, but I’d miss 5 percent, not 50 percent. The benefits far outweigh any drawbacks.
I put on the hearing aids and they were turned on. At first— nothing. The audiologist asked me a question and I jumped. It’s not that it was too loud, but the extra volume and clarity were a jolt. At first I wasn’t sure I liked it. But over the next few days, I loved it. “And zen I uz mruwah blanken!” someone exclaimed and everyone howled. I sat there barely able to contribute. Afterward, two of my colleagues said to me. “You looked kind of out of it and sad during the meeting. Is everything okay?” “I’m fine,” I said. “It’s just that—” I stopped. I couldn’t say it. “I’m struggling… with my hearing.” There. I said it. It was out. They had had no idea. Hearing loss is invisible. I made an appointment with an audiologist, the same place where my son Rob goes. He was born with a hearing loss and was an old pro. I knew how to look at an audiogram, and I was mildly shocked when I saw mine. My hearing loss was worse than I had expected. Hearing aids were ordered. I had to go back in two weeks. I insisted that Rob come with me because I was scared. He rolled his eyes and assured me that I would be fine, but I still really wanted him to be there. So I used a sophisticated psychological technique to persuade him. This consisted of “Pleeeeease!!! We can get ice cream after.” (He was 30 at the time.)
The moral is: DON’T WAIT! Don’t let years go by where you miss out on much of your life. Make that appointment. It will be one of the best things you ever do for yourself and it will change your life for the better. It cannot be worse. If you’re nervous, take someone with you. If you live in New York City, ask Rob to come. Just take him to ice cream after.
Irene Goodman lives with her family in New York and Massachusetts. A top literary agent, she has since 2009 regularly auctioned off critiques of manuscripts to benefit Hearing Health Foundation and other nonprofits. HHF is grateful for her longtime support. For more, see irenegoodman.com/charity-critiques.
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