I was at a business luncheon recently and I mentioned that my 90-year old mother is as deaf as a rock. This was not a statement of direspect, it was a statement of fact, but it caused one of my co-workers to shoot me a look of utter contempt. “What’s with the look?” I asked.
“If your mother is Hard of Hearing,” she said, using her most politically correct verbiage, “why don’t you get her a hearing aid? She does not have to Live in Silence.” She nodded self-righteously. “I would do it for my parents.”
Britney is 28. “How old are you parents?” I asked her. “They’re pretty old,” she said primly. “My dad will be 50 this year.” I wondered briefly if I could dump my Diet Coke on her and make it look like an accident, but all I said was, “Come back in 40 years and we’ll chat.”
The truth of the matter is that about a year ago all 5 of us siblings decided that Mom’s hearing loss could not be ignored anymore and that we should have her fitted for a hearing aid. “I don’t want a hearing aid,” said Mom. “I hear just fine.”
Deaf to her protests, I was selected to take her to the ear doctor, where a very pleasant young lady greeted us. “MAY I HELP YOU?” she yelled as we walked in. Startled, I gave her Mom’s name and Medicare card. “HAVE A SEAT,” she yelled. “THE DOCTOR WILL BE WITH YOU SHORTLY.”
This was getting annoying. “I’m not deaf,” I said. “Sorry,” said the receptionist. “Welcome to my world.”
First we saw the Ear, Nose and Throat doctor who determined that Mom could not hear very well and then we went fot our session with the Audiologist, to determine exactly how much Mom could hear.
As it turned out, Mom had “significant but not severe” hearing loss and the Audiologist recommended a good “middle of the road” hearing aid, cost: $5,000. My heart skipped a beat I suddenly found myself slightly short of breath. “Medicare does not cover this,” said the Audiologist helpfully, anticipating my question, and my heart skipped 2 beats. Mom does not hear much, but she heard “$5,000.” “Let’s go,” she said. “I don’t want a hearing aid.”
A series of frantic text messages to my 2 brothers and 2 sisters revealed that the question was not “What is in Mom’s best interest?” but “How much will we spend to assuage the guilt that we are Bad, Neglectful Children?” Because we are Italian Catholics, the guilt won. The Audiologist tried, unsuccessfully, not to smirk. “I don’t want a hearing aid,” Mom said.
The Audiologist helpfully added that the hearing aid had a 30-day money back guarantee and then asked if I would use Visa, MasterCard or Amex. She seemed taken aback when I said, “Yes,” adding, “We’re splitting this five ways,” while I gave her my MasterCard number, the Visa numbers of my two sisters and younger brother, and my older brother’s Amex number. As we left her office after being fitted for a tiny, digital hearing aid with a mother of pearl carrying case, the Audiologist said we could pick it up next week. “I don’t want a hearing aid,” said Mom.
When we returned the next week we discovered that the earbuds were so tiny that Mom’s arthritic fingers could not insert them in her ears although removing them was certainly no problem, as we discovered a minute later when the Audiologist turned on the juice. “Too loud?” asked the audiologist, as we pulled Mom down from the ceiling.
Thirty minutes later, after an excruciating series of adjustments, we left the doctor’s office. As we walked to my car through the green and shady parking lot, Mom looked around in wonder like she was in a whole new world. “I wish those birds would shut up,” she said. In the car, I asked if she liked being able to hear. “Stop yelling,” she said.
When we got back to the home she shares with my sister, she went into her bedroom while I filled my sister in on the details. After a long time, Mom went to her favorite chair and turned on Dr. Phil at her usual ear-splitting level. “Where’s your hearing aid?” I asked her.
“On my dresser,” said Mom testily. “I told you I didn’t want one. Are you deaf?”