Tag: hearing aids

The Sounds We Forget to Hear

The Sounds We Forget to Hear

Hearing is something most of us take for granted. We rarely pause to notice the sounds that surround us—the rustle of leaves, the hum of traffic, the laughter of children. Instead, we walk through life plugged into headphones, filling every moment with music, podcasts, or phone calls. We wear them when we walk, talk, commute, and definitely when we exercise.

This week, my youngest made crème brûlée. She’s been perfecting her recipes lately and this time offered dairy-free, vegan, and lactose-free options. In our household, that’s not just a nice gesture—it’s a necessity. We are a home full of celiacs, lactose-free lifestyles, and IBS sufferers. My children, poor things, didn’t need a genetic test to prove maternity—they inherited all my “fun” genes: the celiac gene, the IBS gene, and definitely the lactose intolerance gene.

But here’s the moment that gave me pause: as she torched the sugar on top of the crème brûlée, I heard it. The delicate, satisfying crackle of caramelizing sugar. That beautiful, subtle sound was only possible for me to enjoy because I had my hearing aids in. Without them, I’d have missed it entirely. That tiny moment of joy made me think about how much we miss when we don’t stop and really listen.

Take Charlie, our neighborhood squirrel. Charlie is something of a local character—and a sworn enemy of our dogs. (They’re terriers. It’s instinct.) Charlie, bold as ever, hisses at them from his perch on the tree. Every time he does it and I actually hear it, I can’t help but laugh. It’s such a strange, small sound—one I never noticed before hearing aids. But now I hear it, and every time I do, I’m delighted.

When I was younger, my mother used to warn me: “Don’t listen to music so loud—you’ll ruin your hearing!” I wish that was the reason I have hearing loss. But for me, it’s just part of the hand I was dealt.

I remember the day I got my first hearing aids. My audiologist looked at me and said, “Just a heads-up—the world is loud.” She wasn’t wrong. It is loud. But it’s also incredible. Hearing the world—even when it’s loud—is a gift.

So if you can hear the birds in the morning, the hiss of a squirrel, or the crackle of sugar on a homemade dessert—pause for a moment. Take your headphones off. Listen. The world has so much to say, and it’s worth hearing.

“Still Deaf, Still Together: Navigating Marriage with Hearing Loss”

Had a Great Conversation with My Husband

This morning, I had a great conversation with my husband. I was still lying in bed, while he was getting dressed in the walk-in closet. What made this conversation truly memorable, however, was that I was without my hearing aids. He was talking to me from beyond a wall, and I could only hear sounds, not words—kind of like the Charlie Brown cartoons, where all you hear is noise instead of actual speech.

I kept telling him I didn’t have my hearing aids in yet, but apparently, even with his excellent hearing, he couldn’t hear me. So, when he finally came into the room, I calmly looked at him and said, “You know, I’m still deaf.”

With my hearing aids in, I can hear quite well, but there are still limitations. I can’t hear well from the other side of the house, or beyond walls, and occasionally, in a noisy room or crowd, I can get a bit lost. I can usually follow most conversations, and my brain fills in the gaps for what I miss. But there have been times when my brain got it wrong, and I completely misunderstood what was being said—or agreed to something I would never have if I had heard the conversation clearly. Thankfully, nothing I agreed to in those moments was anything too crazy.

My hearing loss is not new to my husband. He was there when I lost my hearing overnight, four and a half years ago. He stood by me when I was scared about navigating a hearing world, feeling overwhelmed at social gatherings because I couldn’t understand what people were saying. He was there when I fought with our health insurance company to get my hearing aids covered and when I had to adapt my entire life to my new reality without a crucial sense.

Yet, despite all of this, my husband—who’s been with me through every step of this journey—still sometimes forgets that I can’t hear a thing without my hearing aids. It can be frustrating in a marriage, but luckily for him, I have a sense of humor (most of the time).

Maybe it’s because I lost my hearing that we’re still together after almost thirty-five years. After all, I don’t always hear what he says—the good or the bad.

#HearingLoss

#HearingAids

#Deafness

#MarriageJourney

#LivingWithDisability

#HearingLossAwareness

#DisabilityAndLove

#HearingImpairment

#LifeWithHearingLoss

#LoveAndLoss

#DeafAndProud

#HearingChallenges

The Importance of Patient Communication in Healthcare.

Or Bruised, Bandaged and Ignored!

This morning, I had my routine monthly blood tests. I get these quite often and know my body—and my veins, which are sometimes tricky. When I arrived at my appointment, I noticed a new phlebotomist. As usual, I explained that my veins tend to roll and that one side is better for drawing blood.

Unfortunately, my advice went unheard. Not only did he overlook my concerns about my veins, but he also failed to address my need for clear communication. I had told him that I am hard of hearing and need him to speak directly to me instead of turning his back.

I work in a fast-paced customer service job, speaking with many people every day. At the end of a long day, all I want is to remove my hearing aids and enjoy the silence. Having spent most of my life in customer service, I understand the challenges of balancing customer demands with providing quality service. But I also know that true service goes beyond just hearing; it’s about truly listening.

Dealing with an invisible disability comes with unique challenges. Listening to people costs nothing but can make a huge difference. Today’s experience highlighted a gap in how some service providers train their staff—not just in technical skills, but in valuing patients as individuals. It felt as though I was just another patient being processed through a conveyor belt.

By the time I left, both of my arms were sore, bruised, and bandaged. But what left the deepest mark was the feeling of being ignored.

Adapting to Hearing Loss: My Personal Journey

At my last Pilates class, my instructor told me that I am quick to follow directions. I didn’t think much of it at first—after all, I’m naturally fast. But as I reflected on it, I realized that my speed isn’t about being prepared. It’s because I can’t hear.

You’d think that losing my hearing, wearing hearing aids, and not enjoying background music in a class would make me slower to follow directions. In fact, it’s the opposite.

I suffer from SSHL, or sudden sensorineural hearing loss, which took away my hearing almost overnight in 2020. It happened during the height of the pandemic, and securing an in-person doctor’s appointment was difficult. By the time I saw an ENT, my hearing loss was permanent.

Losing my hearing isn’t just about the absence of sound; it involves my brain, too. Comprehending what’s being told to me, processing information, and responding appropriately all require more effort and concentration than they did before.

We all cope with losing a vital sense in different ways. Some retreat into themselves, others embrace their new reality, and some, like me, find ways to adapt. After the shock wore off and I realized that my life would never be the same, depression set in. I was consumed with fear about how I would continue living. It’s hard to work in customer service when you can’t hear what people are saying, especially when masks and barriers were mandatory.

At first, I avoided crowds, restaurants, and most social interactions. I thought I was doing the right thing, but in reality, I was isolating myself. As an introvert, I found it strangely comforting to be alone. But then I realized I still enjoyed being around people. So, I developed a kind of “superpower”—anticipating what people were about to say or do. Not being able to hear forced me to watch and observe. I learned to read body language, facial expressions, and subtle cues. In noisy environments, I became a silent observer, finding the smallest gestures fascinating and, oddly enough, entertaining.

When my Pilates instructor complimented me on my quickness, I just smiled. People don’t need to know that my brain is constantly processing, predicting, and observing. It’s my way of adapting to a world I can no longer hear in the same way.

We all have our coping mechanisms, this is mine and I hope that everyone finds their own way.

Being hearing impaired is not a choice, being a kind courteous person is!

I am a member of many hearing loss groups on facebook, when I lost my hearing they helped a lot with not feeling alone and finding someone who understood my struggle of dealing with losing my hearing overnight.

Most days I am good and I believe I have adapted mostly to my current situation, but we all have our bad days. Days when the ringing in the ear is so loud that it does not matter what setting your hearing aid is on , you can hear absolutely nothing. Days where you can not figure out what people are saying no matter what. These are very frustrating and depressing days and can throw you into a loop.

During the pandemic and even today in some places, there was masking all around & plastic barriers made it hard to hear for most humans but for those with hearing loss made it absolutely impossible, add to that the ability to read lips was gone as well and sometimes even the ability to read the facial expression was gone.

These days medical facilities still require a mask. I always make a point to tell the reception that I am hard of hearing and if they can make sure to let the people who will call me to either say my name louder or to approach me when it’s my appointment time. A lot of people are nice and say yes, sure. But when it comes to actuality, they all forget. 

The weirdest place I had that issue was at the ENT/Audiologist office. You would think that in these surroundings they will be more accommodating or understanding. But no! Music was loud on the TV in the waiting room, no closed captions and receptionists with shields who talk to the computer instead of lifting their heads when they speak to you.

Who needs to adapt? The customer service industry or the hearing impaired person? For the hearing impaired there is not much adaptation, it’s not like you can wake up one morning and decide today I shall hear. Even with my very expensive aids, there are times that I have no clue what someone is saying and I am not going to hide under a rock just because I can’t hear anything.

Customer service industry needs to adapt and workplaces need more training on how to intercat and integrate people who have disabilities as they are part of society.  Talking to people while facing them and not staring at your phone or computer should be taught early, this is a social skill that is important in any situation. If anyone asks you to repeat a sentence, repeat it and do not say “ oh, it doesn’t matter”.

Being hearing impaired is not a choice, being a kind courteous person is!

The sound of silence 10/1/22

This morning i got  in the car to go to the gym,i turned on the ignition and the radio started playing and  the song that played was the Sound of Silence. Those who know me are aware that I lost my hearing overnight somewhere in the beginning of the pandemic, I went to bed hearing and woke up to silence, well almost silence, the tinuutis that was bothering me for several days was still there. In the beginning of my hearing loss journey this song would make me cry, cry for the silence, cry from understanding I will not be able to hear again , cry from the need to adapt to a new reality that I did not choose for myself.

Silence has a sound, even quietness has a sound. When I wake up every morning before I put my hearing aids in, the world is silent, kinda, since as the song goes silence does have a sound.

Somedays the silence is difficult, it reminds me of what i can’t anymore and what will never be my normal again, what i have lost and what i will miss in the future. Other times the silence is welcomed. The world is a very noisy place. All this noise causes listening fatigue as hearing with hearing aids is not easy on the brain, it requires extra work and some days my head hurts like no tomorrow. These days the hearing aids are  removed the instant I enter the car and the silence in the car is just what I need.