Could you say that again please?
Nobody believes it, but I am deaf. My wife says it’s selective hearing, but I choose not to listen to her.
I was reminded of my deafness today. It not being England, May tends to bring out the sunshine, so we went off to the restaurant for lunch. No space outside meant that we had to eat inside the restaurant, where it was already quite loud and busy. It is in exactly this circumstance where I am reminded that I have tinnitus and that French is not my language. If you are in a similar situation, but where people are speaking your native language, you can generally follow the conversation, filling in the gaps even if you don’t catch all of the words. However, if it is not your language, you have to concentrate that bit more in order to put things together or formulate an answer - at least, that’s what I have to do. And I can tell you that it can be very tiring.
Today, as the conversation whipped around the table, it was all I could do to keep up with things - a constant, loud background noise meant that I could barely hear what was being said. It was all I could do to watch the visual signs, laugh wholeheartedly at the correct moment and give nodding encouragement or frown at the right moment, taking my cue from the others around the table and hoping that I hadn’t got things wrong, laughing as a colleague described his mother’s funeral, that type of thing. I felt like I was inside a fish bowl, looking out at the people, seeing their mouths move, hearing a sound that sounded mostly like “Flob-a-lob”.
It’s always been there, but having to make an conscious effort to follow a conversation brings it, unlike the words, sharply into focus. Once, many years ago, a friend confessed to me that she found me aggressive when we were in a group sitting in the pub. I think it is because, in order to hear better, I need to lean across the table into the conversation and this can come over as aggressive. Or maybe it’s the wild gesticulating and snarling features. I don’t know.
Every night, I go to bed, where, instead of silence, I am treated to a high-pitched screech in my left ear, and a low-pitched hum in the right ear. It’s funny how it’s a constant companion, but you don’t even know it’s there until exactly the point you don’t want to know it’s there.
Luckily though, as I am writing this, I am sat on the terrace as the sun goes down, listening to the birds singing. I’ll enjoy it while I can. “What’s that, shift your arse and wash the pots? Sorry darling, I can’t hear you”.
May 7th, 2008 at 3:37 pm
That must be a nightmare. Have you ever investigated having it treated? I remember seeing some promising work a few years ago whereby a small electrical current was used to tone down the nerve that caused the buzzing - it literally changed the lives of the people it worked for.