It seemed a little silly to be sitting in the audiologist's booth at my age. She asked me about my hearing difficulties. I told her I had trouble hearing low tones in both ears and it has been something I've struggled with my whole life. She looked at me oddly as if I wasn't telling the truth.
I explained it seemed to be more of a hindrance now. People appeared to be growing old of repeating themselves to me and I couldn't always catch every word those with lower voices were saying. Understanding voice mails is especially difficult. (Thank goodness for a patient secretary that will listen to them with me when needed.)
I sat in the booth struggling to complete the task. At times, I even closed my eyes trying to concentrate and pick up parts of the sounds or words.
For most of my life, I've made fun of my hearing loss. But in reality, it hasn't been all that funny. I know I am missing so much of what is being said. It can be hard to follow large conversations if I can't see the speaker's face. Sitting up front isn't always an option so I do the best I can. Lately, it has become embarrassing.
The ENT enters the office and confirms I was spot on about my hearing loss. He has rarely seen someone with a pattern like mine, he shares. And, the same in both ears. He tells me he suspects it's genetic somehow. I argue back I was always told it was a result of being born so prematurely. He politely dismisses it and tells me to dig deeper. Something is telling him there are others in the family with the loss. He completes a referral for me to be fitted with two hearing aids and we finish a positive conversation about next steps.
A day or two later, I discover from my aunt on my birth father's side, that hearing loss does run in the family for females. My half-sister who feels like a whole sister shares she suffers from the same loss. Our aunt confirms it could indeed be genetic. Of course, neither of us were aware of that since we were not raised by our shared father or had many opportunities to interact with him. I am thankful that hasn't stopped my aunt or cousins on his side from keeping in touch with me. That missing piece of information would never have been known without that connection.
I move from thinking about the hearing loss connection to wondering what other pieces about me are connected to my father's side that I have no idea about. Even at 48 years old, I can slip back into wondering why I wasn't enough to count or matter to him. I think about where my life has taken me all these years and what I've learned from being a parent myself.
I decide I miss him and the opportunity to know him and his family so much more than I'm mad at him.
I explained it seemed to be more of a hindrance now. People appeared to be growing old of repeating themselves to me and I couldn't always catch every word those with lower voices were saying. Understanding voice mails is especially difficult. (Thank goodness for a patient secretary that will listen to them with me when needed.)
I sat in the booth struggling to complete the task. At times, I even closed my eyes trying to concentrate and pick up parts of the sounds or words.
For most of my life, I've made fun of my hearing loss. But in reality, it hasn't been all that funny. I know I am missing so much of what is being said. It can be hard to follow large conversations if I can't see the speaker's face. Sitting up front isn't always an option so I do the best I can. Lately, it has become embarrassing.
The ENT enters the office and confirms I was spot on about my hearing loss. He has rarely seen someone with a pattern like mine, he shares. And, the same in both ears. He tells me he suspects it's genetic somehow. I argue back I was always told it was a result of being born so prematurely. He politely dismisses it and tells me to dig deeper. Something is telling him there are others in the family with the loss. He completes a referral for me to be fitted with two hearing aids and we finish a positive conversation about next steps.
A day or two later, I discover from my aunt on my birth father's side, that hearing loss does run in the family for females. My half-sister who feels like a whole sister shares she suffers from the same loss. Our aunt confirms it could indeed be genetic. Of course, neither of us were aware of that since we were not raised by our shared father or had many opportunities to interact with him. I am thankful that hasn't stopped my aunt or cousins on his side from keeping in touch with me. That missing piece of information would never have been known without that connection.
I move from thinking about the hearing loss connection to wondering what other pieces about me are connected to my father's side that I have no idea about. Even at 48 years old, I can slip back into wondering why I wasn't enough to count or matter to him. I think about where my life has taken me all these years and what I've learned from being a parent myself.
I decide I miss him and the opportunity to know him and his family so much more than I'm mad at him.
The Living Years by Mike and the Mechanics
"Oh, crumpled bits of paper
Filled with imperfect thought
Stilted conversations
I'm afraid that's all we've got
You say you just don't see it
He says it's perfect sense
You just can't get agreement
In this present tense
We all talk a different language
Talking in defence
Say it loud (say it loud), say it clear (oh say it clear)
You can listen as well as you hear
It's too late (it's too late) when we die (oh when we die)
To admit we don't see eye to eye..."
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