Quiet

People like to ask, “Which of your senses would you choose if you had to give up one?” I have always hated such questions, but lately I’ve begun to think I won’t miss my hearing much, if I ever lose it. Sounds have been driving me crazy for a while now.
I suppose that’s because I’ve been living in this noisy hell-hole of a city, with a varying number of wonderfully boisterous children, for the past 28 years. Before that, I lived on an Air Force base, where F-106s routinely blasted away whatever small amount of quiet might’ve been found with so many neighbors so close by. Moving here, not far from an international airport, seemed almost quiet in comparison, at first.
Now I have to sleep with earplugs, and sometimes even that doesn’t work. I have sound-insulated windows and doors, too, thanks to the city and the FAA. Still not good enough.
I know I’m spoiled because, when I was a kid, we lived out in the country for a few years, and for a significant portion of the rest of the time, in small towns. The most noise we ever had to endure then was when someone was vacuuming, cutting the grass, or running farm equipment in the nearby fields. I didn’t realize then, of course, how unusual it was to be able to hear far away sounds, and few of them.
I was lucky to be able to hear at all, after suffering a bout of German measles that left me deaf for a short time, according to family lore. My hearing has been about as perfect as can be since then, and I do thank God for that great blessing.
But once, a few years ago, I noticed that I was having trouble understanding when people were trying to talk to me, especially if there was any other noise in the room. I went to an ENT doctor for a hearing test, and tried to start facing the possibility that I might need a hearing aid.
I know I shouldn’t put too much stock in this doctor’s diagnosis because one of the first strange things he did was to sterilize something he stuck in my ear by holding it in the flame of a match for a couple seconds beforehand. I was in too much shock to respond in time to prevent it, and went along for the rest of the adventure, cuz I’m stupid like that sometimes.
While I was waiting to go to the audiologist’s room for the hearing test, I noticed that I could hear a whole lot of sounds coming from the various other rooms in the office- mostly there was the slamming of doors and drawers by some woman who was going around putting things away. I think she must’ve been either hard-of-hearing herself, or very unhappy about something.
She kept this up during my hearing test, too, and I told the technician that she was drowning out the sounds in the headphones. Even after she quit, I could still hear a child crying in one of the rooms.
Before I put the headphones on, I had to ask the guy to change the covers, because they were stained with ear wax from a previous patient. I couldn’t believe that he expected me to put them on my head in that condition, or his nerve at implying that I was being a pain in the behind for asking, which was obvious from his sigh and the reluctance with which he complied.
When the doctor saw the results of the hearing test, he told me that there was nothing wrong with my hearing, and in fact, I had what he called “super-hearing.” He recommended that I avoid going to rock concerts, or it might kill me. (I had been to several extremely loud rock concerts before this- not to mention, blasting rock music in my car is one of my favorite therapies when I’ve encountered a few too many idiot drivers- so I knew he had to be full of crap.) I tried to discuss with him possible explanations for the difficulty I was having with conversation, and asked if menopause might have anything to do with it (thinking the inability to concentrate or something might have been playing a part); he pooh-poohed that idea- twice- and even said something about if I needed that crutch, when I pointed out that I was old enough for it to be a possibility.

The more I thought about this fiasco, afterward, the angrier I became, until I finally reported him to the state medical board. I don’t know if they ever did anything, but his name wasn’t on the office door when I went by recently and checked.

So, anyway, I just hope I can still hear if/when I ever get to move somewhere quiet again. Then my “super hearing” will be a blessing again :)