I sported my Valentine bear Tie o’ the Day to visit my ear doctor to get my hearing aid tuned up. He changed some filters and adjusted some other hearing aid innards. I don’t know that his work really helped much more than just the tiniest bit. My right ear is on its last leg, and my left ear registers only tinnitus. My hearing is hopeless.
At least I got to stand in front of a poster of an ear and see how I would look if I had an enormous right ear. While my doc was tinkering with my ear gadget, I tried to decipher some of the autographs on my doc’s prized JAZZ basketball. I check it out at every appointment, and I still can’t figure out whose autograph is whose.
If you wanna speak to me and make sure I hear you these days, you probably oughta use at least a cheerleader megaphone, pointed directly at one of my ears—while standing as near to me as you possibly can. I CAN’T HEAR YOU NOW!
I know it’s just my age being age-y, so I’m not really complaining about the normal breaking down of eardrums. It is what it is, as we say. But I am also complaining a bit because I’m having to do a lot of nodding and acting like I know what’s going on around me, when I can’t hear anything but a bloody mumble from anyone. I play like I’ve heard and understood because I do not want to annoy people by asking them to repeat and repeat and repeat what they’ve taken the time to say to me. I trust that Suzanne will drag me aside and loudly alert me if someone says something I absolutely must know. If you hear her yelling at me, don’t be alarmed. We’re fine. She’s just translating for me.