Recently, at dinner with a friend, I apologized for asking him to repeat what he had said. After he did, I kind of mumbled about having hearing loss. “Sorry, what did you just say?” he asked. I repeated, but this time I pointed to my ears. “Oh, no worries,” he said. “That makes two of us.”
I asked for his advice: What do you do at a party when you are holding a glass of wine and carrying munchies on a paper plate, while background music and conversations are so loud as to make it impossible to hear what the other person is saying? “You nod and smile,” he recommended. But what if a person is talking about something serious, like being driven in an ambulance to the emergency room? “Then you should just nod,” he said.
I became convinced of my hearing loss when I could not understand a voicemail message after listening to it several times. I asked my wife to listen to it and tell me what it was all about. She said, “The message is from your hearing center. They want you to make an appointment to get tested.”
Responding to a question not asked is a hallmark of hearing loss — for example, “I’ll have the Caesar salad,” in response to the server’s question, “What would you like to drink?” No harm done in this instance. But what if you mishear life-saving instructions in an emergency situation?
I sometimes think that others are the ones with hearing problems. When I entered our house one day, I saw my wife in the kitchen about 20 feet away. So, I asked, What’s for dinner? When I received no response, I moved closer and asked a second time. No response again, confirming my belief that she has a hearing issue. So, from a couple of feet away, I asked loudly one more time. “For the third time, it’s chicken,” she replied, somewhat irritated.
Hard-of-hearing people can be easily blinded by vanity. To the chagrin of his wife, a friend refused to wear his hearing aids, instead keeping them in his pocket. It was kind of a game with him. Hoping to persuade him to start wearing them, she would stoop and shout toward his pocket: “Can you hear me, Bill?” “No, I don’t,” he would say.
I wish hearing loss was the only problem of growing old. Forgetfulness is a close second. However, sometimes forgetting can be a plus, especially in our retirement community. You can tell the same story over and over again and people will still respond with a hearty laugh. I don’t remember if I’ve told the story before, but if I have, my friends don’t remember hearing it.
I pride myself on being the coffee master in our family, a title well-earned after considerable trial and error. On one occasion, I forgot to put water in the coffee maker, which I realized when I retrieved an empty pot. On another, I forgot to add coffee; this time the pot was filled with hot water. But forgetting to place the coffee pot in its designated place was truly disastrous.
Forgetfulness can result in inconvenience or embarrassment. Coming back from a trip, I spent half an hour looking frantically for my car in an airport parking lot. Problem solved when it suddenly dawned on me that I hadn’t driven to the airport. I sometimes open a drawer to search for something but forget what that something was. Blanking on someone’s name, especially that of a close acquaintance, drives me mad, and it is not getting better.
My former neighbor and I (when we lived in the free world, that is, before we moved to the retirement community) would compare the number of medications we were taking. I am up to 8, Jack would say. I am still on 6, I’d counter. We celebrated when we reached 10 each. I guess if you can remember to distribute your medications in the 7-slot pill case, you are okay.
Enough for hearing loss and forgetfulness; how about our physical health? Our bodies come with a limited warranty, guaranteeing their functionality to about age 50. You can add 10 more years with a protection plan of exercise and a high-fiber diet. After that age, it’s the roll of the dice.
Diminished flexibility, stiff back and painful knees seem to happen overnight. Good luck trying to get up after having fun playing on the floor with the grandchildren. Ditto with beach chairs; I have to ask young family members to haul me out of them. We were talking the other night about how nice the feet feel after a pedicure when I noticed someone not participating in the discussion. So, I asked him: “Do you clip your toenails yourself?” “Are you kidding?” he responded, “I can hardly put my socks on.”
In a vast and busy airport, hurriedly and anxiously walking a mile to the gate of the connecting flight is really hard on knees and back. How about when faced with climbing several flights of stairs or taking the elevator? Stairs would have been my decision when I was a young man. Today, definitely elevator.
And you still call this the joys of growing old? Yes, I do — just consider the alternative. And remember, a day without doctor appointments or emergency room visits is a grand day indeed for us old folks!
Michel A. Ibrahim (micheljackie7393@gmail.com) is a retired professor of public health who lives in Baltimore.
