Michael Finley

I Can't Hear You

The shock of adult hearing loss

Reprinted from his "What Ails You?" columns for Twin Cities Business Monthly

© 2003 by Michael Finley

I woke up one winter morning with a hearing problem: instead of normal sounds in my left ear, I heard a constant, sludgy roar, like the engine room of a churning ocean freighter. It was very distracting. For two months I swallowed every ten seconds, hoping to make the sensation of fullness go away, and the roaring die down.

One aspect of my affliction amused me: When I whistled, the sound split into high and low, like a steam calliope. I could whistle circus music. But only I could hear it.

Otherwise, it was no circus. I missed a lot of phrases in ordinary conversation. The bad ear masked what the good one could still hear. I could talk on the phone, as reporters must, but only with the receiver at my right ear -- which disabled my writing hand.

I began to fret about my livelihood. How could I make a living with Niagara Falls in my head? How could I attend a meeting, or answer a question, or hear a joke, without betraying my strange infirmity? I got a tiny glimpse of the isolation and shame that deaf people describe.

The scariest thing: four months later, my doctor still doesn't know what I have. We've discarded early theories that it's caused by a brain tumor, or diabetes, or thyroid. I may never know, because the inner ear is a "black box," an area less accessible by surgery and instruments than other body areas.

Oh, we could cut me up, he assured me. But it's not a good idea. Also, a hearing aid won't help my problem, which is too much noise, not too much quiet.

With all these questions, I resolved to learn more about middle-aged hearing loss.

The invisible diseaseMORE
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