hearing loss – Schpilkes The Blog

Are my arms not long enough, or is my eyesight getting worse?

Are my arms not long enough or is my eyesight getting worse?

I have worn glasses since I turned 20. My favorite pastime in the university’s library’s old book area finally took its toll. I always loved reading. I started reading early and as a bilingual child I had a lot of reading material – I had books in two languages to read.

In Haifa, there was a tiny book store that held treasures galore and when my parents took me there to choose a book I was so happy, I usually finished the book by the time we got home.

Libraries were my other favorite place, books , books and more books.

Over the years my library expanded and took a lot of space, I took 3 boxes of books with me when we moved to the USA many years ago.

These days I have a Kindle, but I still go back to my leather bound old Damon Ranyon book every once in a while. There is something magical about a real book.

I always needed glasses for seeing, never for reading. And then something happened in the last year. My arms got shorter – that is my only explanation for why I could not read on my cell phone or why it was getting harder to read on the laptop unless I moved them both a little farther from me.

There was no way I needed reading glasses, I am not old!

So I scheduled an Ophthalmologist appointment, and I got the good news and the bad news. The good news- my eyesight was getting better, I really do not need glasses to see. I blame my hearing loss. I had a virus attack my ears six years ago and I lost my hearing.

Losing one sense fixed in a way another sense. My eyesight got better and so did my sense of smell.

The bad news – I need reading glasses.

When I lost my hearing I was in my mid fifties and since I lost it overnight and have to wear hearing aids, I did not see it as a sign of getting older despite everyone telling me stories about their grandmother and her hearing aids.

But reading glasses is something completely different, it is admitting that I am getting older. Not an easy thing to admit even though I know technically that I am getting closer to sixty.

I have a new pair of glasses and it is helping with the reading. But if you ask me it is not the glasses, it is the pilates classes that I am taking that are helping my arms get longer.

The Joy of Making Things That Aren’t Amazing

When I was in elementary school, we had an optional ceramics class. My parents signed me up, and I gave it a try. Unfortunately, ceramics was not really my specialty, but I did make many, many ashtrays. This was back in the 70s, when smoking was still everywhere.

My ashtrays were not particularly good—or even round—but my parents displayed them all over the house, and I was very proud of my artistic capability.

I never took ceramics again, and my crafting and art misadventures continued through adulthood. Every once in a while, I would try something new and quickly discover that my brain does not really function that way, and crafting tends to frustrate me. There has always been a big disconnect between what my brain imagines the outcome should be and what my hands actually create.

This past year, I started looking for a stress-relief hobby and tried a couple of easy DIY crafts. Most of them were… not amazing.

Then I found soap making.

I discovered that I really enjoy making soap. Creating new shapes, colors, and scent combinations is really fun for me—and my soaps are actually pretty!

Soap making became a creative outlet and a great way to relieve stress. As an added bonus, my house smells amazing despite having a dog.

From soap came resin. The mixing and creating process is similar, but my resin creations are not quite as amazing as my soaps—and my house now has more than enough coasters. These coasters remind me of my ashtray-making years. They really are not amazing, but I am still happy to display them around the house and post them on social media.

Our achievements are not always grand or impressive, but we should be proud of them anyway—especially if they make us happy. At the end of the day, that is what really counts.

So let’s agree to display our achievements and our art projects. Who cares if others think they are not amazing? What matters is that we do.

I Do Not Hear, and He Does Not Listen

A deeply personal essay about sudden hearing loss, marriage, and the invisible gap between sound and understanding.

I like to say that my left ear is for decorative purposes only. It holds my glasses and I can put beautiful jewelry in it — beyond that, nothing more. I simply have no other use for it.

Five and a half years ago, I lost my hearing overnight. I went to bed with severe ringing and woke up to silence.

I saw doctors. I had a brain MRI. They found nothing wrong with my brain — contrary to what my husband thinks. I got the typical solution when no clear diagnosis appears: a virus.

I love the virus diagnosis. It encompasses everything and yet explains absolutely nothing.

My left ear has five percent hearing, which in reality amounts to nothing. Hence, decorative purposes only.

My right ear is slightly better — but only slightly. I wear hearing aids. Good, expensive ones. And yet my hearing will never be the same.

I love it when people say, “But you wear hearing aids — can’t you hear normally?”

No. I can’t.

Hearing aids are not glasses. They do not fix the problem 100%. If anything, they sometimes create more noise.

The world is a very loud place. Very loud.

My brain does not always tolerate the constant sound. In loud places, it takes enormous effort to figure out where sounds are coming from and what people are saying. Sometimes I just want to go home, take out the aids, swallow two painkillers, and sit in silence with the migraine that follows.

Those around us who have not experienced this often don’t understand — even the ones who walked through the hearing loss journey with us.

My husband and I were planning dinner with friends. He suggested a restaurant.

“Yes, it’s nice,” I said. “But I can’t hear anything in there.”

“It’s great,” he replied. “I don’t think it’s loud.”

He is lucky I did not hit him.

I looked at him and asked, “Did you not hear what I just said? I am, after all, the deaf one.”

He repeated himself.

“Yes,” I said. “It’s not loud for you.”

For me, the acoustics are terrible. There’s loud music, dozens of conversations, clattering plates — and I hear everything and nothing all at once. I just sit there, feeling like a decoration. Me and my ear.

I explained myself again. I’m not sure he fully understood. But we’re going somewhere else — somewhere that won’t leave me with a migraine and screaming tinnitus.

It’s funny how I do not hear, and he does not listen.

Maybe funny. Maybe a little sad.

How to Shower Wrong: A Tired Person’s Guide

Or Waterproof? Asking for My Hearing Aids.

The unthinkable happened this weekend — I forgot to take my hearing aids off before getting into the shower. First time ever in five years that this has happened to me.

Hearing aids are expensive. These were my first pair, the ones I got when I first lost my hearing, and they were very expensive. Back then, we had great insurance that covered the full cost of a top-of-the-line pair. That was several insurance companies ago.

Ever since then, I’ve dreaded getting them wet or breaking them. They’re my lifeline. Usually, the first thing I do before stepping into the shower is touch my ears to make sure they’re out.

But today, I forgot.

I was tired — I hadn’t been sleeping well for the last couple of nights. The Passenger Prince had to do a 72-hour at-home EEG study, which meant a camera was set up on him at night. The camera had night vision, and that little light kept waking me up. I like complete darkness when I sleep. I thought about crashing in my home office but decided against it for the sake of comfort. Comfort that completely escaped me this weekend.

My Passenger Prince, who on a normal day would enjoy me running out of the shower naked, was not thrilled with my sprint this time. As soon as I noticed my aids still in my ears, I bolted out of the shower to dry them off — dripping water all over the bathroom and the laminate floor in our bathroom.

Maybe tonight I’ll finally sleep.

Broken Hearing Aid? Worse—A Broken Ear

The Only Thing Scarier Than a Broken Hearing Aid

There is nothing more frightening to a hearing aid wearer than a broken hearing aid—or so I thought.

Yesterday, I had severe issues with my hearing aid. I couldn’t hear anything in my left ear. I kept adjusting the settings, raising and lowering the volume. I deleted the app on my phone, reinstalled it—nothing worked.

When my hearing aid doesn’t function, I can always tell. Besides the obvious issue of not being able to hear, my tinnitus gets noticeably worse.

I tried everything: turned the hearing aid off and on, charged it fully, even put in my old hearing aid. That’s when I realized—it wasn’t the hearing aid that was broken. It was my ear.

I had lost all hearing in my left ear.

And that is even scarier than a malfunctioning device. A hearing aid can be fixed. A non-functioning ear? That’s a different issue altogether. Sometimes, even the best technology money can buy isn’t enough.

After that realization, I made an urgent phone call to my audiologist and scheduled a dreaded appointment. Then, I made the mistake of checking with Dr. Google—and that was not a good idea. Dr. Google is very scary.

Work today was a challenge. Not being able to converse or understand what people are saying to you is incredibly isolating. But my coworkers were understanding. They adapted things so I could still work, and I really appreciated that.

Today was not a good day.
I hope tomorrow will be better.

#hearingloss #brokenhearingaid #toughday #phonak

Hearing Aids, Stigma, and My Story

I had an interesting conversation with my mother the other day. She told me about a friend she met for coffee, who mentioned that her husband refuses to wear hearing aids. Apparently, his doctor told him that wearing hearing aids would hurt his brain.

I’m not sure which doctor he saw—because even “Doctor Google” isn’t that misinformed.

I told my mom that he probably doesn’t want to wear them either because of the cost or because of the stigma. For many people, hearing aids still carry the perception that they make you look old. I wear hearing aids myself. I’ve worn them for the past five years, ever since I lost my hearing overnight. I don’t think I’m old—but I guess that depends on who you ask.

When I lost my hearing, it took a few months for my insurance to approve the hearing aids. They’re expensive, and since I have severe hearing loss in one ear and moderate loss in the other, I needed high-quality aids—not the over-the-counter ones. The first pair I got cost nearly $6,000, but I was very lucky: insurance covered the full amount.

I completely understand people’s hesitation when it comes to the cost. Hearing aids are expensive, and the technology changes—and thankfully improves—each year. But for many adults, cost isn’t the only issue. There’s also a stigma. Some people see hearing aids as a sign of aging or weakness. And yes, it’s true that we lose some hearing as we get older. But that’s not the case for everyone.

In my case, my hearing loss was sudden. My ENT told me it was likely caused by a virus that attacked my system. One day, I could hear everything around me. The next day, my world went silent. My life changed forever.

Thankfully, hearing aid technology is incredible now. The devices are smaller, more advanced, and some even come in fun colors. I will never hear “normally” again, and I’ll always need hearing aids to stay productive and connected. But I wear them proudly.

If you’re struggling with hearing loss, don’t let fear, shame, or stigma stop you from getting the help you need. There’s nothing weak or “old” about using technology that helps you live your life fully.

#HearingLoss #SuddenHearingLoss #HardOfHearing #HearingAids #MyHearingJourney #HearingAidUser #BreakTheStigma #LifeWithHearingLoss #DisabilityAwareness

The Mourning We Don’t Talk About

In life, we mourn many things—not always death.

I’ve mourned my celiac diagnosis, my sudden hearing loss, and most recently, a friendship of nearly 30 years that quietly came to an end.

When I was first diagnosed with celiac disease, I mourned my freedom. The freedom to eat without fear, without reading every label, without scanning menus for hidden gluten. Back then, gluten-free options were scarce, and most of them tasted awful. I remember walking through Costco and crying, realizing there was nothing I could buy there ever again. That moment stayed with me. It took a long time to adjust to this new reality—20 years later, I still feel that sense of loss sometimes.

When I lost my hearing overnight, I mourned again—this time with fear. Fear of navigating life without a major sense, one that’s crucial for safety, for work, for connecting with others. I’m now five years into living with hearing loss, and some days are still hard. Crowded spaces overwhelm me. Conversations at parties are nearly impossible. I’ve become even more of an introvert, not by choice, but by necessity.

And this past year, I’ve been mourning a friendship. A nearly 30-year bond with someone I once considered a true friend. The kind of friend you shop with, laugh with, lean on. The one who would’ve helped me pick a dress for my daughter’s wedding, told me the truth in the fitting room, and listened when I needed to vent. She would have been there—and I would’ve done the same for her.

I have other friends. Good friends. But that doesn’t erase the ache of letting go of someone who once held a permanent place in your life.

Grief comes in many forms. And like any loss, it moves in stages. Maybe I’ve reached the final one. Maybe I’m at acceptance.

Or maybe I’m just learning that some grief never really ends—it just changes shape.

Five Years After Hearing Loss: The Things No One Told Me About Hearing Aids

Junk Drawer Finds and Hearing Aid Memories

I was clearing out one of my many junk drawers as part of my 2025 clutter mission when I found the receipt for my first hearing aid. It instantly brought back everything I went through that year.

From the moment I realized that I really couldn’t hear—and that it wasn’t temporary—to finally accepting that I needed hearing aids just to get through everyday life. I stressed constantly about how I’d manage at work and even more about the cost of the devices.

It took months of back-and-forth with insurance to get them covered. Then came the “test-driving” phase, followed by several more months of getting used to the new sounds and training my brain to adapt.

What they don’t tell you is that the world is loud. And they definitely don’t tell you that hearing aids won’t restore your hearing to what it once was.

I learned that loud places are overwhelming, movie theaters are actual punishment, and despite all the technology available, I still won’t be able to follow every conversation. It hit me hard—so hard that I spiraled into depression and grief.

And people… well, some people are completely clueless. One of my favorite comments (read: least favorite) was:
“But you don’t look deaf.”
Apparently, I forgot to wear my antennas that day.

Another time, I asked someone to repeat what they said because I didn’t hear them, and they responded by leaning in and yelling directly into my ear. The shock on my husband’s and my face must have been priceless.

Now, five years and a second hearing aid later, I’m still adjusting. Still learning to live with the fact that I’ll never hear “normally” again.

I wonder what I’ll find next week when I tackle another junk drawer. Hopefully something better—like forgotten money from a year ago.

#hearing loss journey #adjusting to hearing aids #living with hearing loss

#hearing aid struggles #hearing loss depression

Guaranteed to Raise Your Blood Pressure—Just Add Customer Service

My cardiologist told me that I need to lower my blood pressure.
I would love to do that—sadly, there’s no magic button or app on my phone that can make it happen.

I work in customer service, and let me tell you: working in customer service is practically a guarantee that your blood pressure will be high. It might as well come with a sticker that says “100% Guaranteed.”

Customer-facing jobs have never been easy or appreciated much. You need a strong personality to last in them. Apparently, I have one—I’ve been in this industry for over thirty years.

This week, our phones were out for a day due to a VOIP outage. Honestly, it was kind of great for a few hours… until they started working again. Then the ringing didn’t stop.

Technically, not a problem. But the first call I was lucky enough to answer?

No greeting. No polite chit chat. I was immediately yelled at.

I asked the customer to explain the issue, and she just kept yelling. I asked again, politely, but she continued, yelling about a conversation she’d had with someone else in the office—five days ago.

I tried to stop her to ask her name (which she never gave me, too busy yelling), and I explained I couldn’t continue a conversation I wasn’t part of. That only made her yell louder.

I wear hearing aids, so yelling on the phone goes straight to my ears—and it hurts. I asked her kindly to stop yelling. She didn’t. She just hung up.

I’ve been yelled at by customers before—this wasn’t new to me or my blood pressure. But I’m always perplexed when people think yelling or being rude will help them get better service.

In my experience, kindness goes a long way.

To my cardiologist’s chagrin—and my blood pressure’s detriment—I’m still here at my job. And I can’t wait for the next person to raise it.

#CustomerServiceLife #YouCantMakeThisUp #behindtheadmindesk #customerservicestories

Bread Trucks and Blood Pressure: Finding Humor in Life’s Challenges

funny. You see, I’m a Celiac — I can’t eat gluten because of an autoimmune disease. I was diagnosed with it as a “birthday gift” on my 39th birthday, and as a former carb-lover, giving up bread and pasta wasn’t easy. Back in the day, gluten-free options were hard to come by and, frankly, not very tasty. And, let’s be honest, gluten-free bread is still the size of a postage stamp.

Life these days is hectic, crazy, and sometimes full of stress. Lately, work has only made it worse. My cardiologist told me I need to lower my blood pressure. I asked him how to do that when people around me constantly annoy me and drive me crazy. I’m still waiting for a solid answer to that question.

I try not to take everything too seriously — not because I think life is a joke, but because we’re all dealing with serious things. We need to find humor in what surrounds us. Unfortunately, that doesn’t seem to help much with my blood pressure.

Losing my hearing was tough. I went through the stages of grief because losing such an important sense impacts my quality of life and everyday well-being. But five years later, when people ask how it affects me, I joke that it’s actually a blessing for my husband — I don’t hear any of his annoying remarks anymore.

So, having a bread truck full of gluten following me around was pretty funny. Who knows, maybe it’ll even show up in my dreams tonight.

#GlutenFreeHumor #CeliacLife #FindingTheFunny #LaughThroughTheStruggles
#CeliacWarrior #HealthWithHumor #BreadTruckChronicles #AutoimmuneLife #GlutenFreeJourney #StressAndLaughter