According to some members of my family, "Huh?" and "What?" have become too much a part of my vocabulary over the past year. And, so, like millions of older adults and even some youngers ones, I trekked off for an audiology test.
According to one study, the average delay in adopting hearing aids following what was called "hearing aid candidacy" is almost 19 years. People know when they can't see because they can't see, but hearing is a little more nuanced. "It's too noisy." "You're talking too soft." "You're not making any sense." "I was distracted." "I have a cold." There are many, many excuses for not hearing.
Still, hearing loss is one of the most common chronic health conditions, especially among older adults, affecting 360 million people worldwide. We've all probably known someone like that; a relative or friend who was always asking us annoyingly to repeat something. Now, apparently, I could be that guy.
Once at the audiologist, I expected to receive, oh, a B grade. "Yes, you have some hearing loss, but you're okay," is what I expected to hear. I expected it was related to my age. A couple weeks ago, I went to the dermatologist for the first time in 75 years and asked her to explain about the bags under my eyes. She looked at me with that "what an asinine question to ask" look. "You're old," she said, "That's what happens." I figured that's what happened to my hearing.
But I did much poorer than I expected. They take you into a sound-proof room like you're a contestant on a 1950s quiz show, and wearing headphones, you're asked to repeat words. They seal off one ear at a time, and with my right ear as the hearing ear, I was terrible. I heard just 12% of the words in my right ear. That's a lower grade than I got on my chemistry exam as a freshman at Muhlenberg... barely, might I add.
It turned out that the hearing in my left ear wasn't perfect, but it was considerably better than my right, which is unusual. Generally, hearing deteriorates in both ears equally. There is a possibility that a benign brain tumor is responsible; it's called an acoustic neuroma. It can be diagnosed with an MRI, and if determined it's there, there could be surgical intervention. Uh, no thanks. Things are gonna have to get much worse than me saying "huh" or "what" before getting brain surgery.
So, what to do? I made an appointment to return to discuss alternatives. Meanwhile, I asked other family members if they have noticed my hearing loss. Grandkids said I often don't hear them from the back seat. That might be intentional. One daughter-in-law said, "Oh, yeah, for sure" she noticed. One son said, "Kind of." My golfing buddies said they hadn't noticed any hearing loss, but I write that off as them being too absorbed in their own golf game.
At the appointment, to which I brought my wife, the person most affected by this hearing situation, the audiologist explained some rudiments of hearing. To summarize, hearing is a system involving both ears and the brain and apparently, my brain and left ear are doing a fairly good job of compensating for the deficiencies in my right ear. Taken as a hearing system as a whole, I'm not too bad. The audiologist could tell I was reluctant for intervention, and my wife said my hearing loss has not yet reached the point where it's driving her crazy, "Let's get a divorce."
So, for now, my answer is to plow through it. I stare at people's lips more when they talk. I try to pay better attention. Once in a while, I maneuver around so my left ear is dominant, and I have pledged that if things get considerably worse, I will get the aids that I need. As for the grandkids in the back seat, well, they may continue to go unheard. At least I have an excuse.
