Whenever someone hears a sound that’s outside my range of hearing or vision – a bird, perhaps, a creature skittering in the walls, a distant vehicle noise – my go-to reaction is amazement.
Their upward chin-jerk and slight narrowing of eyes tells me they’re listening hard to – something. I never fail to rise to the bait and, both curious and annoyed, I ask, what is it? Then my jaw drops. You can hear that?
They shrug it off as nothing out of the ordinary, it’s what they do, no special skill required, blah blah. Yet this Superman-like ability to hear and name a sound so far off my hearing radar (it’s a plane, it’s a bird) still has the power to both amaze me and, occasionally, doubt the hearer. You wouldn’t be pulling my leg, would you? You really heard the dog, two doors over, COUGH?
I may also feel simple envy, tinged with grief. I wish I could hear that, like I used to. How wonderful to not only name the song that’s playing, but also hear that the music was on. I’d love to overhear and understand a person behind me, because random comments provide information and connection. My people (the ones who don’t hear well) may hear a voice making words, and then we must ask for it to be repeated, with a louder voice, and while facing us, sucking spontaneity out the window
But that’s the hearing loss life. We do the best we can, using our hearing aids, sound processors, remote microphones, captioning and other visual information. We express our needs. We stand up for our rights. We understand the impact on other people. We try to communicate as best as we can.
Aren’t we awesome?
Yet we’re not immune from ‘bad hearing’ days full of frustration and fatigue. We recognize that ‘hearing’ people have an advantage over us in certain career – being a spy, for example, or any job where reading lips isn’t an option. But let’s also recognize our power to tap into what they hear – by simply asking them to share the information. Where’s the bird, what does it sound like, is it a flock, why do you like birds so much)? There’s no shame in second-hand information; it’s still useful and my life is richer with it. There are times when I need to be advised of an important sound – the turn signal still on, a bicycle zooming up behind me, or water about to boil over.
But the joy of hearing works both ways. On the day of my cochlear implant switch-on, my husband and I went for a walk, to hear stuff. I saw a flock of geese flying way high in the sky. And then I heard them. This time it was my husband who looked amazed.
Honey, you could hear that?! The joy on his face that day made up for everything.
