One of the things that I write about from time to time is the fact that I have moderate to severe hearing loss in both ears. I began having trouble hearing things well when I was about 10 years old; I remember the soundproof booth at the University, and how claustrophobic it made me. I write about my experiences because I think it is important for those of us with hearing loss to share with others, so that those who are beginning this journey have some answers, some information, and some hope.
Whatever I can share, I will.
Tomorrow I go in for a one-week follow-up on my new hearing aids. Forgive me for getting technical, but I have two Oticon Alta2 Pros, which are behind the ear (BTE) and absolutely amazing. Before this, I had Oticon Agils, but the sound quality and receptivity of the new programming and technology is astounding. I could not be happier. Tomorrow I will tell my audiologist that they are 95% perfect and I am so very happy that I was able to make the change. I will ask her to add some programming I need so I can stream music via Bluetooth straight to my ears. I am still a little giddy at this.
However, there is a downside to my appointment tomorrow. My audiologist is leaving, and taking a position closer to her home but far from mine. She is everything an audiologist should be: Knowledgeable, honest, helpful, and friendly (Ok that last one is just what I would like). She faces me when she talks, she speaks and enunciates clearly at all times. She shares just a little of herself, and asks about me. She asks about my sound environment, and what kind of sound I prefer. She listens. She hears.
I don’t know who my new audiologist will be, but Dr. T. has set the standard pretty high. Tomorrow I will give her a thank you note, and a little Starbucks card, and I will share the following:
Thank You, to Dr. T.
It’s just hearing …
Just sound, just noise.
Not cancer, not babies, not wound-mending knack.
But they don’t know the things I know
Because they can hear, but simply won’t.
What you can do
Is magic, a gift.
You grant sound, where sound never was
And make it more fulsome where once it played.
You make music resound
And become a symphony again.
You help the birds to sing,
Where dawn’s silence trembled.
Let the fridge hum and the neighbor’s dog bark
Let the moths tap at the glass.
In the fullness of sound, I rejoice at noise
Which is normal, which is natural
Which is mine.
I wanted to hear voices more clearly again
And converse, and share, and delight.
I have that afresh, and so much more
Because you were called
And answered the plea
And have the skill, and heart.
To conjure sound, where sound couldn’t be.
(Copyright 9/2015, Casey Fogle)