I first posted this on Facebook, commenting then that it was the nearest thing I'd do to a blog post.
I've wondered about posting this, about whether it would come across as preachy or patronising. In the end, I've decided I'll go ahead. It probably started about ten years ago, with me having to ask family and colleagues to repeat themselves rather too often. Sometimes, in the classroom, I'd have to say to a pupil, "I'm sorry, I'm just not hearing what you're saying." At other times, my hearing seemed perfect. Acute, even. Around that time, I moved out of the classroom, temporarily at first, and the problem was, to an extent, masked. I mentioned at a "men's health" check that my hearing wasn't always what it should be. The doctor had a look for excessive wax in my ear, didn't find any and told me to come back if my hearing became bad enough to affect me socially. At that point, I ought to have said, "It is affecting me socially," but the deterioration had been gradual and I was getting by anyway, so I believed.
On returning to the classroom, I found it all but impossible to hear speech over background noise. Family members were increasingly irritated at my frequent requests for a sentence to be repeated. Eventually I'd be told, "It's not important. Forget it." To be honest, this was a bit hurtful. If there was something wrong, surely I deserved a bit of patience? Actually, I'd had plenty of patience and the impatience stemmed from me not doing anything about a condition that was obvious to everyone except me. A move permanently away from the classroom lessened the need to sort things out for a time. Then everyone at work seemed to be laughing for no apparent reason. I could hear Homer Simpson, but Lisa's voice was a hurdy-gurdy of tinkling glass. I started getting strange looks after answering questions that hadn't been asked. Eventually, without telling anyone, I made an appointment at the doctor's and was fixed up with a visit to an audiology clinic. A half hour session mapped out my hearing response. I couldn't hear high frequencies any more. I needed hearing aids.
Hearing aids. Is there anything that says "old man" more than hearing aids? I thought. Recently, when Top Gear designed a car for old people, they decided that hearing aid beige was the ideal colour to paint it.
How wrong could I have been? Within a week, I felt younger, able to hear as I used to. Losing the high frequencies doesn't make everything quieter, just less distinct. Imagine a similar effect on sight. Things wouldn't go dim, just muddy and featureless. Now imagine seeing all the subtle colours again and the detail that would bring out. I realise that I had become reluctant to go to social events. I used to put it down to the stereotypical physicist personality but I think there was an element of what people with hearing loss call "being in the bubble", isolated from conversation. Now I'm much happier to go for a night out. And music... I can't properly express how much of a kick I get out of rediscovering certain pieces, of finding out what's really there, of hearing it as it's meant to be heard.
Things aren't perfect. That's never going to happen, but my hearing is so much better, indeed it's not an exaggeration to say that aspects of my life have become so much better because of getting sorted out. The sorting out happened two years ago, all for free on the NHS. If you recognise anything of yourself here, don't wait. Get wired for sound as soon as you can. Thanks for listening.
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