Mine ears have heard the coming of the horror of old age … Yes, I know those aren’t the exact lyrics, but I’m a bit whack-a-doodle, friends. Thanks to some impressive wax build-up and subsequent ear infection, I’ve lost all hearing on my left side and about 50 percent on my right. And because said wax is rock solid, I’m having to “soften” it for four days with peroxide drops before it can be scraped clear. So, basically, I’ve been stumbling around in my own quiet little bubble, head titled at an awkward angle, constantly yelling “What?” to anyone and everyone.
My husband and relatively new hearing-aid wearer Doo finds this to be a hilarious moment of marital karma. “Now you know how it feels!” has become his annoying refrain. In my defense, I’ve always been sympathetic to Doo’s deafness, which he’s suffered since childhood. What frustrated me and why I teased him was that he refused to do anything about it, purely for vanity’s sake.
But admittedly, until this week, I hadn’t fully understood how debilitating and alienating not being able to hear is. Bike rides, phone calls, watching TV and multiple-people conversations became real challenges that left me frustrated and overwhelmed. And the physical disorientation resulted in more stubbed toes and bruised thighs than when I was nine-months pregnant. With twins.
The point is, I’ve had a glimpse into my geriatric future, and I don’t like it. I’ve come to terms with my deteriorating eyesight; I even look good with my 1.50 purple readers. But I’m not ready to yield mine ears to the horrors of old age. Do you hear me?
Peace out.
