Last week, the city informed us that a construction crew would be working on the street outside our home to install a new sewer device to the existing pipes. (It’s an old street.) The crew would start banging and jack-hammering early in the morning.
That night, before I went to bed, I inserted my ear plugs. I have these soft foam ear plugs. You kind of squish them in your fingers, shove the narrowed point into your ear canal, and allow the foam to expand. Tom uses hard plastic ear plugs (very effective), which I can’t bring myself to insert in my ear.
I hate anything inserted in my ear, especially something hard like a hard plastic ear plug or, maybe some day, a hearing aid.
I’m of the age (over forty) when vendors of products that are supposed to appeal to, or be required by people who are getting on in years send all kinds of advertisements by snail mail or email. One of those products is hearing aids. I also see ads in Via, the magazine published by the AAA Auto Club, which I belong to, and Popular Science, which Tom gets at our library, and even Scientific American, which our neighbor gives us when he’s done reading. Do print magazines assume that their readership is comprised mostly of people who are getting on in years and might consider hearing aids? It would seem so.
Before Christmas of last year, I received one snail mail, a large fancy embossed envelope, which offered me a free Christmas ham if I would come into the conference room of a local hotel, get a free hearing test, and listen to a pitch for their hearing aids.
Aside from the fact that I don’t eat ham, I was not enticed by the prospect of a free hearing test. A test is an ordeal designed to prove you’re inadequate. When I was a child, I always hated hearing tests. You listened to a soft tone and told the tester whether you could hear it. Or not.
Today, my hearing isn’t worse than two or three decades ago. My hearing is just as bad as it always was.
When I was a child, I suffered recurring severe earaches. I have a vivid memory of lying in bed and reaching my forefinger in my ear, finding the canal crusty with the medicinal drops my mother was administering to me. The memory makes me shudder.
When I was a child, I also hated—HATED—milk, butter, cheese, anything dairy. The conventional wisdom was—and it still probably is—that children need to drink milk to build strong bones and teeth. That was the health gospel.
My mother strived mightily to get me to drink milk, flavoring the loathsome greasy liquid with chocolate powder or strawberry powder, pouring it in my cereal, cooking with it. As soon as I was old enough to sneak downstairs to the kitchen before my parents woke up, I rinsed my cereal bowl in milk, deposited a few flakes of cereal in there, and placed the bowl in the sink. Same for my milk glass. My mother was annoyed that I didn’t wash my breakfast dishes, but it was a ploy on my part. A fake-out.
Decades later, I discovered from a book called Mad Cowboy about the cattle-raising industry, that earaches (among other ailments) in young children are a symptom of dairy intolerance.
Today we know that various vegetables, beans, fish, whole grains, and calcium-fortified juices provide more than enough calcium to build strong bones in children and adults without dairy.
When I became a vegetarian in college, I developed a taste for cheese and yogurt. That was before there were the wonderful vegetarian meat- substitutes, like Morningstar Farms products, that we have today. Before I learned to cook vegetables and vegetarian dishes. Cheese, yogurt, and soybeans were all we vegetarians had for protein and calcium. But I never drank milk, not even fat-free milk.
And my hearing? From my twenties on, I’ve always found it difficult to sit across the table from a companion in a café or restaurant and hear what he or she is saying, especially when there’s background noise. In rooms with high ceilings, like cafés and restaurants, grocery stores, and offices, I have to ask, “Say that again?” I have trouble understanding people with heavy accents, any kind of accent. It’s embarrassing. I know I get a blank look on my face and the speaker thinks I’m dense.
Sometimes I have to listen carefully to the dialog in movies, especially when the movie has too-loud background music or noise. But in the quiet of our living room, I have no trouble hearing my husband when we have a conversation. And I have no trouble hearing Athena when she meows, asking me for something to eat.
So if you meet me in a restaurant, café, convention, or party, don’t be shy. Lean close and shout in my ear.
The noise in the street last week from the city construction crew wasn’t bad at all. Or maybe my foam ear plugs worked better than I’d hoped. The crew did a great job of installing a high-tech grate that they can remove for maintenance. Hooray for the city.
So how about you? Do you have a hearing impediment? Do you wear hearing aids? How do you like (or dislike) them?
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