In love - and in hate - with my hearing aids

I am now wearing hearing aids. And I love them. And I hate them.

I love the fact that I can now hear and understand my wife Jane, a low talker, in the parlance of Jerry Seinfeld.

I love that I don’t have to crank the television volume up to astounding levels that frighten women and children and animals.

I love the fact that I can better understand the soft, sweet voice of my 3-year-old granddaughter.

My dislike for the hearing aids isn't of a vain nature. First off, you can barely see them in my ears, save for the fine wire that can be easily mistaken for one of my gray hairs.

After years of being hard of hearing -- and at times being  just plain deaf -- I accepted the fact that my quality of life had to improve and that when it came to hearing, wearing these devices was the only way.

So I’m okay with wearing the hearing aids.

What drives me crazy is the occasional discomfort. I’m highly if not overly tactile. If something doesn't feel right against my skin it drives me crazy. So the fact that I have something sticking in my ear -- constantly sticking in my ear -- is frequently disconcerting. I’m told, “You’ll get used to it.”

At almost 62 years old, I’m in the sweet spot of the Baby Boomer generation. I’ll be able to collect Social Security soon and I’m among the estimated three of every 10 people over the age of 60 who have hearing loss.

For the longest time, I pushed back at the need for hearing aids. The fact that I had moderate to severe hearing loss was no surprise when audiologist Dr. Samantha explained the audiogram chart that showed all of my hearing -- no matter the frequency or decibel level - was way below what’s normal.

And my speech audiometry -- the ability to distinguish the difference between, say, “sail” and “fail” wasn't very good, especially in the left ear.

I pushed back because, frankly, I didn't want to spend the money. These suckers are expensive, mitigated only slightly by the fact that my insurance will kick in $1,500. Most health insurance plans don’t cover anything when it comes to hearing aids.

But this became too important of a quality of life issue for me as I get older. I consider this an investment in my current and future emotional and mental health.

It’s true that hearing loss can have an effect on someone’s overall well being. I saw it happening to me. As understanding conversation became more difficult, particularly at a party or around a crowded dinner table or at a restaurant, it became more and more difficult to be a part of the conversation. The brain, working as a muscle, just tired from the work of trying to understand and interpret what was being said in that jumble of noise. So you withdraw, just a little, then a little more.

Older adults with hearing loss are more likely than peers with normal hearing to require hospitalization and suffer from periods of inactivity and depression, according to a study at Johns Hopkins.

So now I’m in control again, helped my hearing aids that I can adjust through a smartphone app. I can take a phone call directly into my hearing aids, for example.

Dr. Samantha is bringing me along carefully, methodically. When fitted with the hearing aids she didn't give me the full 100 percent of hearing. It would be too overwhelming, she said. And she’s right. All that sound -- even the sound of my fingers on the keyboard -- can be overwhelming at times.

My health is important to me. For my sake and in particular for the people I love, I want to stay in good physical, emotional and mental health. Hearings aids have become part of what I've decided to invest in myself to make that happen.

The lost sense of song lyrics

I’ve been doing some homework in preparation for seeing the “American Idiot” musical on Broadway.

I’ve printed out the lyrics to the songs in the musical as a study guide to help me understand the story on stage.

I’m not that dense when it comes to the thread of a production’s story. My problem is that I have a hard time lately picking up the lyrics of certain rock songs.

The the music of “American Idiot” by the punk rock band Green Day is about as hard as it gets for me.

I don’t have a problem with other musicals -- “Camelot,” “South Pacific,” “Music Man,” “Wicked,” even “Tommy” which orginated from the rock opera by The Who.

But Green Day is a challenge.

I hear the music, but my aging sense of hearing doesn’t let me pick up the lyrics.

In fact, I have a long history for mis-hearing what’s sung or said.

There was the Christmas several years ago when my sister opened a gift. I wasn’t looking at her but I heard her say, “Oh good, a Yoda hat.”

Huh? What an odd gift, I thought turning to look.

It turned out the gift was a yoga mat.

For the longest time, I thought the line from the Beatles song “I’ll Follow the Sun” was: “One day, you’ll look, to see a gun...”

Turns out in their British lilt they were actually singing: “One day, you’ll look, to see I’ve gone...”

Popular culture is filled with misheard lyrics, so I’m not the only one.

John Fogarty, when he was with Clearance Clearwater Revival, famously sang: “There’s a bathroom on the right” when in fact it was “there’s a bad moon on the rise”.

So I’m not taking any chances when it comes to “American Idiot”.

When they sing “One, 21 guns …”, I don’t want to be hearing “One, 21 puns....”

When they sing “Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me; ‘til then I’ll walk alone” I don’t want to be hearing “Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me; ‘til then I’ll walk on home”.

It could just completely skew the whole meaning of the performance.

When the help center is no help

When United Airlines announced earlier this month that it was dropping its call center, there was probably some grumbling from customers and consumer advocacy groups.

I thought it was a great idea.

United Airlines is doing its customers a favor, especially older customers like me, because we don't have to talk to anyone in India anymore.

If we have a complaint or even a compliment we have to send a letter or an email. But I'll take that any day over trying to decipher an accented English conversation over the telephone.

Having a customer care center in a country like India is an example of outsourcing, and it's epidemic among American businesses. Companies looking to shed expense transfer the work to a lesser paid contract worker in a foreign country.

It happened at the newspaper where I worked. All calls related to delivery of the newspaper were routed to a call center in the Philippines. And it's been a tough sled for some customers, trying to understand the people in Manila whom we were told would speak unaccented English. It didn't happen.

For me, listening to someone with an accent in person is difficult enough. And like lots of Baby Boomer types I've lost some of my hearing. Face to face conversations are sometimes tough enough. Phone conversations raise the degree of difficulty. Cell phone conversations can raise the difficult exponentially. Now combine a cell phone call with someone speaking with a customer service rep who has an accent and the conversation becomes all but impossible.

Not too long ago, I was on the phone to FedEx to arrange for some shipment. I'm not even sure where it was my toll free call was received ... Klingon, maybe. I couldn't continue the conversation much beyond hello. I hung up and called back, thinking I'd have better luck ... no such luck. I gave up on using FedEx for my shipping needs.

In announcing its decision to get rid of the India call center, a United Airlines spokesperson told the Associated Press, "We did a lot of research, we looked into it, and people who email or write us are more satisfied with our responses."

What she didn't say is that customers are more satisified because those written responses don't have a incomprehensible accent.