Mashed Potato Ears

Number one, it’s acuity, not volume.

I can hear you. I know you’re talking. I know it’s you. I can identify your voice. Sometimes I hear half of what you’re saying. Context often allows me to “fill in the blanks.” If I know what the subject and direction of the conversation is, I can anticipate where it’s going and fulfill my part of it.

“Mashed Potato Ears” is what I often call my dilemma. Try this; have someone speaking to you place their hand over their mouth when they talk to you, then look away. You’ll probably need to listen carefully. It will sound (probably) like “You’mph prrmpvbly need to flisshen carefully.” See? You know what it means. All good, right?

Except for the second thing; ambiance. I have these hearing aids, you see? And they amplify the particular range in which I’m deficient hearing. Guess what else is on that range? The air vent. That girl tapping her pencil. That guy popping his gum. The old person with a whistley nostril, or someone else with a feedback riddled hearing-aid. A TON of other stuff that you’ve learned to ignore, my hearing aids are helpfully saying “Hey, listen to this! Wanna hear this? Huh? Do you?” I’ve got some settings which alter the ambiance of my hearing aids, but there’s no distinction. They cannot perceive what I wish--or don’t wish--to hear. Thus an open space like a library or a church are often cacophonies of ambient sound that I need to concentrate to hear past. Add a couple of simultaneous voices at once (and what teacher DOESN’T encounter simultaneous voices?) and the sounds I hear are one big mush.

Next time you’ve got a transaction in public, say, buying popcorn at the theatre, notice the things around you. Can you hear the “noise” in the room? Is the popcorn popping? How many other people are at the counter? Can you hear all of their conversations? How about the arcade? Feet shuffling? Now, pile all those noises on top of each other at once and try to have a simple conversation with the clerk. Bonus points if they’re not looking at you while talking.

People think that “hearing loss” means I live in a silent world. This is not at all true. But I MISS things, or I hear them wrong. I put more effort into concentration than the average listener. I have to “spackle” a lot of my conversations with what I THINK was said to me to make sure I’m not annoying people around me by making them repeat themselves. Because my ears are working harder, tinnitus often sets in mid-afternoon and progresses as the day ends, adding one more distraction to all the other noises.

My hearing aids help a lot; but the lack of selection in their amplification is often distracting. The microphones are in the back of my head, so I’m often fooled by the direction that sounds are coming from. I know there’s a noise, I just don’t know where it’s coming from. Or from what room a person is talking to me.

Want to help someone with hearing loss? Look at them when you’re speaking. Eye contact makes things much better. When you’re in public, help out. The occasional “did you catch that” is helpful at the bar, or restaurant table. I’ve got a friend that always checks in to make sure I heard stuff when we’re out together. It sounds annoying, but it’s a blessing. I’d rather hear something twice than make the bartender repeat it. But, most of all, be patient. I try to ask for repetition as infrequently as possible, but if I ask--I really need you to repeat what you said.

Hearing loss is so weird. Other people can’t see it, and when they do, they don’t really understand it. I didn’t either, until I found out I had it. But the other thing to remember is that it is so exhausting. We work harder listening than is generally understood. It’s a process that takes effort, and even more so once it’s gone.