Changing your strut when you know I’m behind you
We’re halfway through – and I’ve had my first proper day off work today. It’s been absolutely tremendous, not least because spring has sprung at last. We have snow and sunshine, both of which make it into my top 10 list of Things I Like.
It’s perfectly obvious why it’s Le Temps in France. No self respecting La would have made such an almighty fuss all day and all night for a fecking week, for so little output. Snow, rain, snow, rain blah blah blah when we could have efficiently got to where we are now within 24 hours.
I’ve skied myself daft all day, including laps of my favourite red of anywhere I’ve skied, ever, for an hour by myself this afternoon. Untangled a lot of knotty things, that did. A couple of kir pétillants in the sun at Madame’s have given me a hazy view on life and a bonus sunburned nose.
Now then, in a sharp change of direction – hearing loss. Nothing at all to do with Alps, snow, skiing, cheese or any of my usual subjects of interest, but it’s my blog and I can write what I like. A couple of folk have asked me to say more about it after I posted an article about the link between hearing loss and dementia the other day – you can read it here– and I’m always one to do as I’m told.
At the ripe old age of 49, it dawned on me that I actually couldn’t hear very much. It all came to a head one night in a restaurant in Cardiff, during the Great Masked Times, when I realised that I lip read most of the time. Until I couldn’t – and I couldn’t hear a word. Clearly this is not all bad. There are plenty of things I’m delighted I can’t hear…husbands, kids…most of my extended family…you know the sort of thing. However, I concede that occasionally it’s handy to know what’s going on – and sometimes people say things I actually want to hear.
I was 51 before I managed to get an audiology assessment, because Covid. By this point I was torn between being terrified I was imagining it and terrified I wasn’t, because life had become considerably harder during those intervening two years. I’m not one of life’s extroverts at the best of times, but not being able to hear, having to constantly ask for things to be repeated, feeling disorientated anywhere where there was a lot of background noise – eventually I stopped wanting to do pretty much anything at all. It was easy to hide away at home during the Covid Years, but then along came some good reasons to leave the house again and I took myself off to a tiny room with some headphones and bleeping noises.
Turns out I have 50% hearing loss. I can hear all the rumbly background noise stuff just fine, but most of the helpful sounds, which start the large majority of words, have gone. There was relief that I wasn’t imagining it, vindication because I Was Right, excitement that my life would be back to normal – particularly that I’d be able to hear music properly again – and horror at the cost of decent hearing aids. Luckily I was in a position to afford the ones that would give me the best quality of life. They were fitted, I had a cry when I listened to some music and could actually hear each instrument again, then I went home to be newly acquainted with just how Loud lots of things are. Crisp packets, I am specifically looking at you.
Hearing aids aren’t the magic answer, as it turns out. They pick up the loudest sound, so I can still struggle when there’s background noise of any kind, or if somebody doesn’t get my attention before speaking to me, or if my back is to them when they start speaking. It’s been a steep learning curve at home, and not without some conflict. Things don’t sound the same as they used to. A lot of the time it’s still easier to lip read because I’m so used to doing it now. A combination of partial deafness and short sightedness can be a bit mind bending at times. And the ability to mute everybody is a life affirming joy.
Why do I say all this? Not for sympathy, obvs – I know you lot too well for that. But the article really made me think. I look back on the years when I was struggling, before I got my hearing aids, and I can see the significant impact it had on me. I got to the stage where I didn’t want to go out, or do anything because I wouldn’t be able to hear. Even now, I assess a lot of what I agree to do socially on the basis of how manageable it will be. A night of worrying about how much I’m asking folk to repeat themselves is no fun for anybody. From a mental health perspective it wasn’t good at all, and still has the potential to not be if I don’t manage it well.
Hearing declines naturally with age – I was particularly unlucky, I think. It’s not something I’d ever paid any attention to until it happened to me, so I was unaware of the massive impact it has. I’m lucky. I have lots of friends, an active life and social life, a broadly functional family – and yet there are times it can still be isolating because like me, unless you’ve experienced it, you probably haven’t given it much thought.
I already floss my teeth and get regularly sweaty. I even learn stuff occasionally. So to complete the full house I’ll be making sure I don’t let my hypervigilant need to pretend my hearing is perfectly normal stop me from going out and seeing people. It’s the perfect piece of passive aggression to be honest; YOU HAVE TO COME OUT WITH ME, THINK OF MY LONG TERM HEALTH, DAMMIT.
And that’s it from me today. Joe and his bestie arrive tomorrow for a long weekend, and as I haven’t seen him since January the excitement in the apartment tonight is palpable.
