White Noise
(Dec 19/05)
In those days, the late sixties and early seventies, children with hearing loss or complete deafness had to be fitting with an electrical box that was strapped to their chest and buckled around the back like a horse halter. Whenever we saw her trudging down the street towards us, a buzzing static issuing from her chest, we would pretend to be blind or make wavy motions with our hands in front of her face. She always had this sad left out look on her face, and tiny, unsure steps that propelled her forward as quickly as she could go. When I turned forty, my own hearing started to worsen, and this gods’ awful buzzing white noise started that never seems to go away. The ETN doctor said I had this bone problem called oto-sclerosis, a hardening of the little piston that suppose to move like a hair being blown on. He said it would only get worse with age, and that my hearing loss would increase and the white noise along with it. He suggested surgery; a procedure called a stapendectomy, which would at least stop the progression and allow me to use a telephone without having to pretend I understood what someone was saying. The hearing in both of my ears is at around 50-60%, the right one, the one I wear a hearing aide in, tends to whistle and scream whenever I bend over or move from side to side too quickly. Sometimes, just for fun, my friends will move their lips like their talking, but say nothing, or wave their hands in front of me pretending to do sign language. I have no straps or buckles, or a halter that digs into my back and shoulders, or the need to move quickly in tiny, unsure steps, eyes trained on the toes of my shoes.
In those days, the late sixties and early seventies, children with hearing loss or complete deafness had to be fitting with an electrical box that was strapped to their chest and buckled around the back like a horse halter. Whenever we saw her trudging down the street towards us, a buzzing static issuing from her chest, we would pretend to be blind or make wavy motions with our hands in front of her face. She always had this sad left out look on her face, and tiny, unsure steps that propelled her forward as quickly as she could go. When I turned forty, my own hearing started to worsen, and this gods’ awful buzzing white noise started that never seems to go away. The ETN doctor said I had this bone problem called oto-sclerosis, a hardening of the little piston that suppose to move like a hair being blown on. He said it would only get worse with age, and that my hearing loss would increase and the white noise along with it. He suggested surgery; a procedure called a stapendectomy, which would at least stop the progression and allow me to use a telephone without having to pretend I understood what someone was saying. The hearing in both of my ears is at around 50-60%, the right one, the one I wear a hearing aide in, tends to whistle and scream whenever I bend over or move from side to side too quickly. Sometimes, just for fun, my friends will move their lips like their talking, but say nothing, or wave their hands in front of me pretending to do sign language. I have no straps or buckles, or a halter that digs into my back and shoulders, or the need to move quickly in tiny, unsure steps, eyes trained on the toes of my shoes.
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