Archive for February, 2010


The package landed silently in my office mailbox. The white cardboard box and courier company label didn’t give a hint of its contents but the sender’s name and description provided a clue:

“OTICON LTD.

VALENTINES GIFT”

I cut the tape and opened the flap. Inside was a personalized letter with several pages of accompanying documentation.

“Dear Ms. Smith,” the letter began. Normally, that gender mistake would be enough to get the accompanying contents thrown in the garbage bin. But there was more. The letter went on to wish me a happy Valentine’s Day and asked me to consider the following poem:

“Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

What good are sweet nothings,

If your sweetie can’t hear you.”

If the errant salutation didn’t do it, a poem that bad would normally guarantee that the rest of the package’s contents would end up in the trash. But there was more. Accompanying the letter and documentation was a layer of tissue and a neatly gift-wrapped package about the size of my hand, tied with a fancy red bow.

I pressed on, carefully slipping off the bow and unwrapping my “gift.” I had an idea of what was inside. A year ago, my boss had called me into his office and showed me a similar package sent to him. Inside was a letter, accompanied by a fancy hearing-aid case. Inside the case was the shell of a behind-the-ear hearing aid. Of course, my boss didn’t know it was just a shell. He said I was the only hard-of-hearing person he’d ever known, and if the gift happened to be a valuable piece of hearing equipment, he wanted me to have it. I thanked him politely, explained that the shell was worthless and walked out with the package, quickly depositing it and all its contents in the trash.

As I continued to unwrap my gift, I realized it wasn’t a hearing-aid case after all. Instead it was a box of fine chocolates. I was reminded of the famous line from Forrest Gump: “My momma always said, ‘Life was like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re gonna get.’ ” Sweet nothings? No, I didn’t need my ears for this Valentines gift. This was something I could sink my teeth into. And so I did.

You never know what you’re going to get with hearing loss. Sometimes life will surprise you and be pretty good.

Choosing Quiet in a Noisy World

No matter how good your hearing aids, there will always be some sound distortion, which is unfortunately directly proportionate to one’s hearing loss.

A pretty good example of this would be my bi-weekly swim class.  I swim unaided.  There are about fifty women in my class.  You can imagine how the locker room sounds afterwards; women chatting, water and hair dryers running, locker doors squeaking open and slamming shut, toilets flushing.   I hear none of that.   I shower, wipe off, get dressed and dry my hair all in relative peace enjoying alternate sensations of the locker room experience—a warm shower, combined smells of body lotion and chlorine, hot air on my scalp.

Finally dried and dressed, I put in my hearing aids.  ACCKK!  NOISE!  PAIN!  Shower water blasts against tile.  A bathing suit drying machine spins into hammering thumps.  Fifty hair dryers sound like jet engines revving to take off.   Metal lockers clang open and shut continuously, as women shout to each other over the din.   I head for the quiet peace of my car as quickly as possible.

It has been six months since I got the Phonak Naidas.  I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to the noise.  While I am extremely grateful for the new clarity in speech understanding, I have to admit many other environmental sounds are unpleasant.   A normal ear miraculously filters out all that unwanted noise.  People with normal hearing might be vaguely aware, but locker room noise is not painful to them.   There are no words to describe what I hear.  The technology that allows me to hear t’s and s’s, called frequency transposition, is relatively new to the human experience.  It is anything but natural.  Nothing can replace natural hearing.

I am mostly happy with my hearing aids, but I’m just as happy to take them off when communicating with other people isn’t crucial.  I have the option to turn on my aids and socialize, or to enjoy the quiet.  All too often I choose quiet.

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