Wired For

Sound

From Elspeth Robbins, in Suva Most people enjoy their ill nesses in retrospect but after Bill had some ‘middle-aged maintenance’ while on leave in Auckland last year, the results were so enjoyable, they exceeded

all expectations.

YOU see for nearly ten months now Bill hasn’t had to use his hearing aid.

After years of gradually diminish ing hearing, the last 15 years being almost total deafness, it seems un believable to us all and especially the children who had never known their father without an aid, that we can now speak naturally to one another.

On looking back, the children have been brought up in an_ odd atmosphere at times ... a mixture of sign language and shouting, and constant repeating of conversation, even when the hearing aid was on.

One is inclined to be rather abrupt and preremptory with the deaf. Any thing said quietly has to be repeated.

Each repeat is repeated some decibels louder.

A good shake

One soon gets into the habit of shouting information in the briefest of phrases.

Thus, “You are wanted on the telephone, dear” becomes an ugly bawl of “TELEPHONE!” It is probably accompanied by a receiver to-ear posture.

To wake Bill in the mornings, we gave him a good shake, pointed to our watch and beckoned him to get up. Sometimes if he was working in the garden and tea was ready, we threw a small pebble or stick nearby to attract attention, followed by an arm-beckoning-tea-drinking-gesture.

Life was not all like that of course.

We did have conversations, but by and large anything important or dis cussible had to be saved up for some propitious time when Dad could give us undivided attention, when all was quiet and serene and no piercing put side noise occurred to be amplified by the microphone in the hearing aid.

There were no spontaneous conver sations between father and children while out in the garden or even at the table. The clatter of dishes and cutlery, even the munching of food, was amplified by the microphone and conversations started under such con ditions often ended in shouted mis understandings.

The hearing aid was only of value when all else was silent and one person at a time spoke directly into the microphone (usually in a breast pocket).

The operation performed on Bill is called a stapedectomy. It is done under a local anaesthetic, and it in volves replacement of a non-functional bone with a tiny piece of silver wire.

Twenty-five minutes after the com mencement, Bill suddenly heard the doctor say “Pass so and so” . . . Then he heard him say, “I want such and such”, and later again came the clanging of bowls and a tap running.

In one hour and 25 minutes the operation was completed, but some days elapsed before his ear settled down to the new conditions.

New tones

Bill keeps on hearing new tones and depths of sound he hasn’t heard for years.

Sometimes sounds are so different from what he has been used to hear ing through his aid that he has no idea what they are. For some days he rushed outside every time a plane flew over.

One night in bed he said crossly, “Why ever is that car revving up in the street at this hour?”

I eventually traced the “revving car” to Bill’s own chest as he breathed in and out. Bill could also hear his own heart.

Sleep became elusive until he be came used to the night sounds. The birds woke him early in the morning.

He became convinced that the corner of the lounge in which his favourite chair is placed acted as a sound-shell for every creak and bump throughout the house. Motor mowers were an abomination and people should not be allowed to run them!

The disadvantages of audibility are gradually being outweighed as Bill’s ears become more selective in their hearing.

One of his greatest joys is hearing again the rich bass notes in orchestral music . . . Perhaps my greatest joy is being able to talk from room to room. Life is sweeter now that Bill is wired for sound.