My love, or at least my appreciation, for my hearing aids is well-documented. I’ve written about them, talked and rapped about them—I even wrote a love poem to them. This is more than I have done for my husband. (I may have written a rhyming love note or two, but I have never dedicated a rap song to my spouse.)
I continue, as they used to say, to extol the virtues of hearing aids and other technology. If I were a cochlear implant user, I would be praising them
to the high heavens, too. In fact, I don’t need to be implanted to give CIs a shout-out. I have witnessed the miracles they have shaped in the lives of my friends, and so I bow before the CI creators and manufacturers for their game-changing genius.
However, there are a few things about hearing aids, at least mine in particular, that are annoying. The big one, of course, is that I must wear them in the first place. (As comfortable and upbeat as I am about my hearing loss, I have to be honest: it would be really nice to not need them. On the other hand, if my hearing were suddenly restored, I would need to find a new line of work. When I say hearing loss is my life, I’m not kidding—it’s my passion, my hobby and also what I do for a living!)
A few other things my hearing aids must take the rap for:
- They make me heavier. I don’t need that extra ounce or two that hearing aids and batteries add to my weight. The next time I get on the doctor’s weigh scale, I’m taking them out first. I also noticed an upswing in my weight when I got telecoils (which I wouldn’t give up for the world).
- They provide unwanted musical accompaniment when I put on makeup. Female or male, if you use makeup, you know that applying it involves a forward neck thrust, slight backward head tilt, arched eyebrows and an open mouth. Why we open our mouths when applying eyeliner, I don’t know, we just do. And when we people with hearing loss tilt our heads backwards and open our mouths, our hearing aids complain, sometimes loudly. Something to do with our ear canals opening up. Like me, you have a choice: either do your makeup deaf, put up with the noise, or keep your mouth shut.
- They take a nip out of my disposable income in a Hearing Aid Year (the year in which I have to get new ones, which is every four or five years). Truly, they should cost less. Studies show that cost is not the only reason that people don’t get hearing aids, but—it IS a reason! Some people don’t see their value (“I don’t really need them” or “Will they help me enough to justify the money?”) and others want them but just can’t afford them. This boils down to my being able to hear because I have the money, whereas someone else can’t, because they don’t. This is more than annoying—it’s just wrong.
- They require batteries. We are the battery-operated people and need batteries the way other people need food, air and, uh, emotional intimacy. I understand that my hearing aids require some sort of juice to make them go, and the cost of batteries is minimal. The problem is I’m afraid of being caught without—to be battery-less—just when I need them. It has happened before and to prevent similar nightmares, I’m always stocked. When that double-beep tells me a battery is about to die, I don’t have to reach very far for a replacement. I have partial packs of batteries everywhere—in my purse, in the car, in the medicine chest, and beside my bed. I found a pack in the spice drawer last week. And those are the fresh ones! Because I hate to litter and I’m often too lazy to go find a garbage can, I stick the used battery in the nearest receptacle – usually my purse or clothes pockets. If you’re collecting used batteries—to make an interesting art piece, perhaps—I have a gold mine of steel nuggets in the bottom of my purses and coat pockets. Just let me know when you’ll be by to pick them up.
Blame is not shame. According to the dictionary, the opposite of blame is praiseworthy and my in-the-ear beauties are certainly that. I don’t try to hide them, and I’m your go-to girl if your battery dies and you need a size 312.
No, I’m just taking a few minutes out from usual adoration of my hearing technology to gripe a bit. That’s allowed, isn’t it?
