What’s That, Darling?
“My wife says I should have my ears tested as I battle to hear her when she speaks. Of course, there’s nothing wrong with my hearing; it’s my wife who mumbles.”
The audiologist looked at me and raised her eyebrows.
“And I bet,” I continued, “that every married man of my age says exactly the same to you.”
“That he does,” she replied with a smile.
My ears were tested, my gosh, that was almost ten years ago, and, as usual in a case like this, my wife, Louis, was right.
I decided on the latest type of hearing aid, difficult to notice (obviously some sort of vanity was involved) and started wearing them, but not all the time. I didn’t think there was much difference (Louis did), but when I didn’t have them in during meetings, I had to ask the chair to repeat privately what had been discussed. I also noticed, when I was wearing them, that for the first time in years I could take part in a discussion around the table, especially in a restaurant with all its background noise.
I’d recently entered for an advanced music exam (I’m a wonderfully mediocre pianist) and hadn’t done quite as well as I’d hoped (I passed, though), one reason being that I had to keep on asking the examiner to repeat her instructions or even to replay certain notes so that I could determine what they were. With my new hearing aids, I could hear more acutely (and my performance also improved; well, I thought so even though I still haven’t been asked to perform at Carnegie Hall).
Oh yes, there was also a noticeable cognitive improvement.
Looking at this from the other side, I’ve observed that some men or should I say many men (they seem to be more vain than the women here – that might be for another article) refuse to admit that they’re, in the words of my grandmother, “hard of hearing” (it seems that the word “deaf” is unacceptable). I’ve spoken to quite a number of them, be they friends (or former friends), acquaintances and running mates when I’ve seen them straining to hear, sitting at a table with a fixed Mona Lisa smile and obviously not taking everything in (just as I had done), and even, when I was giving a talk at, for instance, the University of the Third Age, sitting in the front and staring at me (obviously attempting to lip-read); also if anyone dozed off, it would always be those who had difficulty hearing me spout forth wisdom or being gratuitously facile.
So, why have I decided to write this now? Well, it’s all part of outreach or community service. You see (if I recorded this, I’d say, “You hear …” or “don’t hear” as the case might be), at a recent Chartered function, I heard some of my contemporaries talking very loudly at different tables (not always to press a point but because it was a sign of their “hard-of-hearingness” that they weren’t aware of) and others sitting quietly and obviously not following what those around them were saying. When I breezed past them a few times (being sociable and, as is Louis and my wont, chatting to all and, especially, sundry), I looked at those I’d worked out had hearing problems. Yes, dear reader (as Jane Austen said), not one of them was wearing a hearing aid.
No doubt, it’s not only men who have this problem, but from what I’ve seen, they’re more susceptible to vanity here than the women, possibly because the latter can hide their hearing aids under lustrous locks.
So, men, go and get your ears tested, especially when others notice that you’re battling to hear at times. And if you’re too vain to admit your hearing loss (and I bet you’re reading this with your glasses on, so what’s the difference?), just grow your hair or wear a wig. And you’ll find that, if you’re married, your wife has stopped mumbling.
Written By,
Stephen Finn













































