Sound Barrier

I placed the headphones over my ears and strained to hear the beeps.

I was taking a hearing test at a facility in lower Manhattan on Wednesday where I was required to sit in a soundproof booth and listen.

I hadn’t had a hearing examination since grade school and the only thing I recall from that distant time was how frightened I was that I’d get something wrong—as if you could actually study for a hearing test.

This time out I was confident that I was killing it, but I soon found out otherwise.

The only reason I was here in the first place was due to a reoccurring earache that seemed to be getting worse over the last few weeks.

Naturally I began inventing all sorts of horrific scenarios that all ended with me checking out of this life and--God willing!--passing through the Pearly Gates.

I thought perhaps I should see someone for a second opinion and I found this fantastic doctor, Kamran Jafri, just a few blocks from my office.

He believes the earaches are the result of a combination of allergies, a deviated septum, and the distinct, but disturbing possibility that I grind my teeth at night while I sleep.

He even aimed a mini-camera up my schnozzolla to give me an unnervingly magnified view on nearby screen of my honker’s internal workings, something I would have gladly avoided.

The hearing test, he assured me, was just a routine examination.

So that’s how I ended up in the sound booth with the headphones on. And I was all set to get my passing grade and go back to work when a specialist came in and told me that I had suffered “significant hearing loss” and I could probably use a hearing aid.

I nearly fell off the chair. Hearing loss? Hearing aid? Are you out of your mind? I knew I should've studied for this thing.

There’s nothing wrong with my hearing—or at least I never noticed it. I’m always complaining about how goddamn noisy this city, with blasting music, roaring motorcycles, and jabbering idiots on cell phones. You mean there’s even more crap to hear?

The only thing I’ve noticed was difficulty hearing dialog on DVDs and I got into the habit of viewing them with subtitles. Naturally I blamed the discs, but Dr. Jafri explained that DVDS are recorded in a such way that I’m missing a certain level of sound.

Listen Up

Hearing aids conjure up sorts of images in my head—outdated, inaccurate ones—of putting a horn in my ear and saying “eh?”

We went down the list of possible causes, including working around loud engines or with firearms; serious illness, or blows to the head, but none of these applied to me.

The specialist said that the condition could be heredity and I believe my father’s hearing started to go relatively early in his life.

However, he was also a combat veteran of World War II and was exposed to artillery and rifle fire. And he also played football as a young man, losing several teeth and having his bell rung so badly one time that he couldn’t recall his name for over an hour.

As far as not noticing the hearing loss, the specialist and my doctor both think that my brain was working to make up for the short comings by working harder.

And herein lies the problem. Dr. Jafri and the specialist both warned me that there is evidence to suggest that this taxing of the brain now could lead to cognitive problems down the line.

I walked out of that office ready to puke. Yeah, I know I’m 62, but, damn it, I’m too young for hearing aids. I’m already wearing glasses to read, now I need more equipment to hear? I’m turning into a fucking cyborg.

I was depressed all that day. I savored every sound I heard—conversations, music, even traffic noise—because now this most beautiful sense, which I have taken for granted for all my life, was being threatened.

I didn’t want to be like my father, missing the punch line of nearly every joke, and asking people to repeat entire sentences.

Thank God my doctor is so supportive and kind. While admitting he was surprised at my test results, he also sounds confident about treatment options.

I felt much better after speaking with him, and we plan to meet again next month.

And if I have to wear hearing aids, I will. I won’t like it—who the hell does?—but if it’s going to protect my noodle, I’ll manage.

I want to hear the beeps and all the other sweet sounds life has to offer.