Sorry, What Did You Say?
“You can’t hear a bird, a cricket, you can’t hear a ripple on a lake, you can’t hear any of the wind going through the pines — but you do have a sense of space. Each habitat has a characteristic sense of space.”
I wait with eager anticipation every spring for the arrival of the frog chorus. The sound begins like a quiet awakening, one frog, two frogs, and then a chorus singing loudly from our pond. Then, the next refrain floats over from the neighbour’s pond. I listen, enraptured, to waves of frog song until they join in an almost deafening crescendo. The chorus eventually fades, croaking its last songs of the night.
The presence of frogs is a good indicator of a healthy ecosystem. Two summers ago, the chorus helped me understand that my personal ecosystem might not be doing so well.
I was on our deck enjoying a game of cribbage with my husband and daughter. My husband made a remark about the frog chorus singing in the middle of the day. My daughter nodded. I heard nothing. You can’t hear that, my husband asked with disbelief? Turn the other way, he suggested, and listen with your other ear. And I heard them, not very loud, but I heard them.
Something shifted in me that afternoon. My first thought was, I am getting old. I am losing my hearing. But I soon dismissed the thought. So I couldn’t hear the frog chorus clearly, I could still hear everything else - or so I thought.
Over the next year, I often asked, sorry, what did you say? But, I was in denial. I would meet friends for coffee and ask them to repeat themselves, blaming it on background coffee shop noise. I turned the volume louder on BritBox, putting it down to the Scottish and Irish accents that were difficult to understand. I had trouble hearing my husband say something to me from the other room, but no wonder, after all, he was in the other room.
Finally one night, it dawned on me when I woke due to my husband’s restlessness. Shall I close the outside door, he asked, the frogs are so loud tonight. I listened and could not hear the frog chorus. Devastated, I finally admitted to myself that I was struggling with my hearing.
Still, I waited until last summer before finally taking a hearing test. Turns out I have moderate hearing loss in both ears. Not one ear, as I had suspected, but both ears. My hearing loss is age-related and will only worsen with time. So, have I gotten hearing aids? No. Not yet.
I don’t know if you will understand my reasoning. Some of you will, others not. We all have something that defines old age for us; for me, that is hearing loss. That might make no sense, but it is how I feel.
I know that hearing aids have improved immensely over the years. I know how my hearing loss impacts those who love me. I also know that hearing loss can lead to cognitive decline. But I’m just not ready yet.
The audiologist who reviewed my results asked about my lifestyle. Sounds like you are a house mouse, she said, you may not need hearing aids just yet.
In our conversation, she also shared that many people wait up to eight years before they get hearing aids. In most cases, early hearing loss does not interfere with everyday tasks, so people are in no hurry to seek help. Then, as hearing loss gradually increases, it is a decision easily put off.
I told my husband that I was going to wait with getting hearing aids. I shared my frustration and sadness. I acknowledged that this might be difficult for him. I asked him for his patience. I told my kids and my friends. I suggested ways that they could help me to hear them better.
When I can’t hear, I tell people I have trouble hearing. I sit with my ‘better ear’ facing the television. At events, I sit closer to the speakers. When meeting friends for coffee, we look for quiet coffee shops. I now plan ahead as much as possible.
I am starting to accept that this is part of who I am. I have no control over my hearing. I am no longer feeling angry, and only a little sad. The rustle of pebbles conversing with the sea continues to bring me peace. The shrill cry of soaring eagles, the morning song of chickadees, the drumming of flickers on our metal chimney, and the whistle of the resident kingfisher into our pond continue to delight me. And there is nothing like the giggles and conversations I share with my 3-year-old granddaughter that fill my heart with joy
When the day arrives that I find it difficult to hear these sounds, especially the laughter and chatter of grandchildren, it will be time. I am beginning to educate myself about the various hearing assistive technologies available so I can make the best choice for me. My heart and my head will tell me when it is time.