SAXTONS RIVER — One of the banes of being old, at least in this youth-worshipping culture, is a deeply ingrained resistance to admitting that we have entered that less-than-revered end-of- life stage.
So when my solidly middle-aged kids (three - I can still count them) began coaxing me to get some help for my deficient hearing, I fended them off with the statement, “I'll get some help when I can no longer hear your nagging!”
But, of course, I didn't wait that long.
Rather, secretly, tail between my legs, I made an appointment with a provider of hearing aids who had advertised a special discount and a free consult.
I approached that unobtrusive office timidly, aware that it serviced, almost exclusively, the Infirm-By-Age Club that I didn't relish joining.
Further, having heard reports of the cost of such devices, I anticipated being taken, my infirmities preyed upon. That would add insult to injury.
To my surprise, the gentleman - for so he was - who tested my hearing was respectful and honest.
His integrity was proved by his deftly removing, with my permission, a ball of wax the size of a small marble from my right ear.
“That ought to improve your hearing!” he said.
It did, but not enough. I walked away from that office having written a check for $4,500 for what, I had been reassured, was a top-quality, digitally programmable hearing aid, set to match my tested profile.
Once so fitted, I went about my usual tasks, assured that I would not only now be able to hear my children and grandchildren, but could also tune in on the woodland birds whose calls I had sorely missed, even while others around me rejoiced in them.
The specialist had laughed when I had said that was what I had missed most. The advocates for treating hearing loss tend to promote better conversation rather than the delights of nature.
* * *
It didn't take me long to realize that my outdoor activities rendered those frail, expensive devices in my ears vulnerable to loss.
It was summertime, and, short of body and especially of limb, I was often scratched or snagged by raspberry canes or fruit tree branches as I went about my gardening. A number of times, I barely saved the behind-the-ear aid from dropping into garden beds or patches of weeds.
The provider suggested that because of my unusually narrow right ear canal I purchase a specially molded terminal, the part that fits in the eardrum and transmits the amplified sound - cost, $75.
By that time, I felt myself handicapped by a high-end device whose priciness (though replaced for free for a whole year) would stress my budget for the rest of my life. Besides, the digital features of this snazzy product were beyond my manual capacity.
So, taking advantage of the promised refund-within-45- days policy, I surrendered my encumbrance and reverted to listening carefully.
I even discovered that positioning myself near a speaker was sufficient compensation for my auditory limitations.
* * *
Alas! Time passed and seats up front were not always available.
After having my ear canals scoured by my primary-care provider in case of another marble (there wasn't any), I again followed up on an advertised special.
In a tiny office like an outgrowth of mold beside a cemetery, I purchased an old-fashioned pair of in-the-ear-canal devices in what turned out to be a mistaken belief that I could pop them in when I wasn't up front to my speaker and remove them afterwards.
It turned out that once installed, the battery deteriorated quickly and would have to be replaced - a costly nuisance - and, furthermore, that the ear-plugged sensation these acorn-shaped devices gave me was unpleasant.
The warranty void by then, I swallowed the loss.
* * *
More time passed and, sure enough, I was having trouble hearing not only birds but the important information family members mumbled to me as they walked out of a room. I was beginning to wonder whether my radio was broken, so poor was its sound quality.
Enter still one more advertisement, this one featuring a photo of a specialist who really, really cared about your quality of life, with the usual promise of a free examination. When that caring specialist recommended a slightly-less-fancy digital behind-the-ear device for $1,000 less than my first such purchase, I went for it.
Time proved that such dainty devices were prone to earwax and other disabling contamination, but the office was friendly. And though the caring specialist struck me as less- than-fully-responsive to my questions and, indeed, as a woman with serious troubles of her own (not the sort who would gratuitously remove ear wax marbles), she was always quick to restore my device to working order.
Then she left that office for greener pastures (or so I was told). She was replaced by a man who set off flashing red lights in my brain that meant “evil ahead.”
Maybe that reaction indicated the tendency among the elderly to paranoia (or alternately gullibility) that accompanies growing dependency. Mr. Evil was always quick to restore my prone-to-contamination devices.
But then, my excessive caution failed me in a bed of weeds. I ultimately lost a device just after the free-replacement warranty wore off, and I learned I'd have to pay full price for another.
My confidence wavered.
* * *
At this time (time being an important player in this tale), I had noticed ads in publications (presumably favorites among the elderly) for inexpensive hearing aids that made me stop and consider.
What if I needed frequent decontaminations? Even assuming the quality of these mail-order, one-size-fits-all devices, would I be able to get by without the assistance of a trained specialist?
But the cost being roughly one-tenth of the products the trained specialists commanded, I decided it was worth a trial, especially as I had read that, like non-ophthalmologist-prescribed eyeglasses, such devices had been newly licensed to advertise.
My mail-order aids came with a well-written instruction manual that demonstrated maintenance procedures and, furthermore, offered a 24-hour help line.
When I saw that the literature also advocated experimenting with various settings and fittings, I realized I had entered the do-it-yourself phase of hearing-loss treatments.
* * *
It has taken me half a year, but I have finally hit upon the best use of these inexpensive devices.
Now, with clearer explanations and more options than the professionals had given, I am hearing even the creaking of floor boards by invading crickets in summer and the mutterings from the next room of my family.
Best of all, these aids do not fall out easily, and though the components must be replaced frequently, at a cost that seems a bit exploitative, the distributor is responsive and efficient.
And, for some reason, being a do-it-yourselfer has replaced the mild shame I had felt as a “patient” with a sense of pride that I have waded through the jungles of exploitation and come upon a bright and bird-filled clearing.