Doug Blough

I’ve been hearing things these past weeks I never expected, or particularly wanted to hear. A couple at the next table cooing, “No, I love you more,” a small child confessing, “Mommy, I go poo-poo,” and a college-age gal whispering to another hottie, “Get a load of this old guy; he actually thinks he’s cool.” (I just happened to be in the area)

I guess it’s like the man who loses his sense of smell slowly over many years. If his sniffer was miraculously restored, only then does the slaughterhouse across the street and the sardine cannery next door become an issue. I’m just saying: One takes the bad with the good when it comes to sensory improvement. Just ask the old guy who after cataract surgery realizes how badly the wife has aged.

But I alarmingly digress. If you’re wondering where I’m going with this, well, how do you think I feel? I’m guessing it’s an introduction to my new Starkey hearing aids I received as a Christmas gift from my older, (much, much older) brother Paul and nephew, Rusty. (No relation to the gassy horse in the Seinfeld episode)

I’ve heard semi-lucidly since spring when Paul handed down his backup, Costco hearing aids, but the left one worked periodically while the right was fine long as I’d kept my finger shoved into my ear to drive it deeper home. But really, that looks as conspicuous as the hearing aids my grandfather wore that looked like D batteries wired into his head.

Speaking of hand-me-down sensory aids, when I lose one of my $150 contact lens’, I still occasionally wear one of Dave Beemer’s old ones he’s donated over the years. Dave and I share the semi-rare cornea abnormality, kerataconus, and my eye guy, Dr. James Bell, called our unlikely, identical correction as “one-in-a-million.” I’ve utilized Paul’s hearing aids, Beemer’s contact lens’, and don’t even get me started on my uncle’s dentures.

But I kid; I still have my own teeth, although unconventionally aligned. So I now had a comped set of hearing aids from anywhere I choose, and since Ralston’s Heart Mountain Hearing Center had comped me two free hearing tests in the last five years, it was a no-brainer. I chose to put my ears into the nurturing hands of Chris Pelletier. (I believe it’s French, but possibly Dutch)

So now I sport two stylish Starkeys that I’m guessing no college-age gal will ever be able to spot. Everything is clear and crisp, but here’s where we return to that sensory-overload thing. I never realized how noisy my asthma really is; I can barely hear myself think for the wheezing. I’m not sure if it’s normal for a refrigerator/freezer to periodically sound like a freight train and my creaky screen door sounds like a wounded rhino. (If you’ve ever heard a wounded rhino, you know it’s a sickening sound)

And forgive me if I’m venturing into the TMI-zone, but my nighttime urination would drown out Niagara Falls. Don’t get me wrong — I’m happy as heck with the flow, but shocked at the decibels.

Continuing on a negative note, I’m now stuck with a ton of those cute little batteries just when I’d grown almost fond of that jaunty little tune in my ear signaling impending battery death. Now I just stick these Starkeys in an electrical-powered charger at night, but what happens when our electrical grid is disabled by terrorists welcomed into our nation with a one-night stay comped at the Hilton? With all those batteries now mocking me, will I even be able to hear the emergency system blaring instructions?

All minor glitches aside, restored visual/auditory function is liberating. The dichotomy is how glorious it feels at bedtime to yank out those contacts and hearing aids, rubbing away the itch and shutting down the clatter. I can only imagine how good it’s gonna feel to someday soon get them dentures out.