Archive for the 'Hearing aids' Category

Things you don’t want to happen to your hearing aid during Covid lockdown, #2

#1 is running out of batteries, and I’ve already got that out of the way, so I’m going straight to #2: turning your hearing aid into a very costly three-piece jigsaw puzzle.

I was just about to join an online work meeting last week, when my screen was Zoom-bombed by a dishevelled weirdo with hair like a burst sofa. Wow, some people have really let themselves go during lockdown I sighed. Once I realised I was actually talking about my own onscreen image, I seized the opportunity to do a quick bit of primping. In my haste, my hearing aid got caught up in my curly barnet and fell into my vintage manual Olivetti typewriter, which itself had fallen victim to my lockdown tinkerings and had no cover over the key mechanism.

Once I managed to fish the aid out of the complicated interior workings, I saw that the casing over the battery compartment was well and truly knackered. Fortunately, the aid itself was still working, so I breathed a sigh of relief and stuck it back together with Sellotape. No one is going to see me at greater than 72dpi screen resolution for the foreseeable future, I thought, so hey-ho.

All went well until it came to bedtime; it turns out that switching off your hearing aid by cutting through several layers of Sellotape with a 10a scalpel is decidedly inconvenient. Knowing that the NHS has much more urgent things to deal with at the moment than my hearing aid, I persevered for a few days but was forced to give up when the Sellotape goo started melting in the heat.

I decided to phone Clinic O to see if the answering machine had any advice, and to my surprise, I heard a real human voice instead. It told me that hearing aid repairs are still being carried out, but you need to post the aid to them with a covering letter. This, quite rightly, is to keep you and your manky germs out the hospital while they’ve got a world pandemic going on.

I hummed and hawed after putting the phone down. The Royal Mail is somewhat ropey at the minute, and my consignment of batteries from the internet still hasn’t arrived after two weeks; what if the same happens to the hearing aid? And then there’s the vanity. When I was originally offered my fancy red aids, it was on the understanding that if I lost or damaged one, I’d have to get a standard beige replacement. Red on the left, beige on the right…hmmm.

So, in the end, I decided to dust off my old hearing aid pimping skills and go for broke. Shhhhh, don’t tell anyone, but I popped out the retaining pin on the casing with a size 00 sewing needle and carefully removed the mysterious innards so that I could get a better view of the casing. I put the broken pieces back together more permanently with some red self-adhesive film more commonly used for custom racing car decals, and Bob’s yer uncle, job done!

ReSound Multi Mic update

It’s been a long time coming, but here is my advice on the Resound Multi Mic based on my personal experience so far: if you are thinking of buying one of these, try before you buy if possible, and whatever you do, don’t have it set up on 100% multi-mic instead of a 50/50 multi-mic and hearing aid mix, unless you are a hermit.

Also, don’t leave your charger where the office tea leaf will nick it the first time you plug it in. The Multi Mic spent its first three weeks of use in its box with a dead battery because I was afraid to flout the manufacturer’s dire warnings about not using a generic charger with their product. Unfortunately, there’s no obvious way to get a replacement ReSound charger, but the nice people at Connevans supply a generic one which works perfectly.

The good news is that, when plugged straight into the telly, the Multi Mic improves speech discrimination on poor soundtracks markedly, and I’ve actually been able to pick up bits of dialogue that the normal hearing Spouse has missed. It genuinely is amazing. The downside is, that with tulip domes currently acting as earplugs when the aid mics are muted, I have no awareness that The Spouse is speaking to me when he’s asking me what someone just said, for a change. As a temporary fix, I tried switching one aid to wireless Multi Mic and the other to The Spouse, but in mono you don’t get the benefit of either and I’ve now just given up until I can get the settings changed.

The other big disappointment is that my fabulous NHS Resound Up Smart paediatric mini bte aids seem to be the only version of the ReSound aids which are not recognised by the ReSound Smart app which allows you to use your smart phone as a remote control for your hearing aids and Multi Mic. Probably because it’s intended for babies rather than 50 year olds. Explains the too-tight grip on the ear cartilage as well. I had to trawl deep (for me) into the online specs to discover that it wasn’t just my ineptitude which was preventing the aids from pairing to the iphone, but you can find the information a little more quickly in the ReSound pdf here should you need to.

My final gripe is the most devastating, though. Before I used it, I was worried that there might be a time delay on the sound transmitted by the Multi Mic, but this is not the case and there is no noticeable delay on your conversation partner’s voice or line in audio input from tv, etc. However, I have found that when the Multi Mic is clipped to someone else for conversational purposes, it picks up my own voice at almost the same volume as theirs and adds a very noticeable time delay (to my voice only) which prevents me from speaking. Think very bad satellite phone connection, or highly effective Delayed Auditory Feedback weapon. Since conversing with others in noise is the task I primarily bought the Multi Mic for, I am pretty gutted and have not even tried to use it at work with students. They think I’m a total weirdo as it is.

It has to be emphasised that some of my problems may be down to the settings rather than the product, so I’ll reserve judgement until I’ve seen the extremely helpful audiologist at Clinic O. In the meantime, if anyone out there has any experience of these things, I would be most grateful for any tips or pointers for solving the Delayed Sound of My Own Voice problem…Delayed Sound of My Own Voice problem…Delayed Sound of My Own Voice problem…


Oh My God!! This is amazing…TOTALLY AMAZING!!!” I shrieked, forgetting that I was the only one in the office invisibly listening to Radio 4 streaming live to their hearing aids. Even more amazingly, not only could I understand every word that was being said, the clarity of speech made listening almost effortless. Wow. So this was why other people liked listening to the radio! Whatever next, I pondered, perhaps I was going to finally discover how they can follow ‘Top of the Lake’ without subtitles! I let out a little sigh of amusement at the very thought, and eagerly returned to my voyage of wireless listening discovery.

The next discovery was slightly less edifying, however. With Multi Mic and Radio 4 on 100% of my hearing mix, and the real world on 0%, I was now a frightening embodiment of the famous Lombard effect, which causes human beings to raise their voices in loud surroundings in order to be heard. The only difference is that whilst it’s quite acceptable to shout conversationally at cocktail parties, it comes across as totally bonkers in a quiet office.

My talking to myself in a very loud voice was attracting glances from a colleague, and I noticed a question being formed underneath his twitching beard. Unfortunately I couldn’t hear a thing with muted hearing aids and Radio 4 beaming directly into my brain.

“HOLD ON A SECOND…” I entreated, as I tried to remember how to get myself back into airplane mode without aggravating the rapidly developing sore spots on the backs of my ears. All that button pressing combined with the vice-like grip of the new hearing aids was taking its toll, and I didn’t even have my reading glasses on yet. “Oh, stuff this”, I said, giving up on buttons and impatiently ripping the Multi Mic’s audio lead out of the computer in order to take a shortcut to my normal speaking volume.

With normal conversational volume restored on both sides, I began to wonder if I had indeed made a terrible mistake by opting for 100% Multi Mic on wireless. It was all very well hearing Radio 4 with crystal clarity, but not at the expense of everything else. Fearful of taking the edge off my new found enjoyment of faceless speech, I carefully tucked away the Multi MIc and returned to my admin activities on the computer in silence. I needed to preserve all my energies for the ‘Top of the Lake’ TV test later that evening…

Testing, Testing…

“Hiss? Ah, I think I know what that could be”, said the extremely helpful audiologist, “there’s an air-con fan running, I’ll turn it off for a moment and see if that’s the noise you’re hearing.” It wasn’t, but after some vague sound descriptors from me and further experimentation with the expansion and compression settings on the aids, the hiss was banished. It took a little longer to actually do than to describe here, but ‘A La Recherche du Temps Perdu’ has already been written so I’ll spare you an epic account of check-box clicking.

Hearing aids sorted, it was now time to move on to the really exciting business of setting up the ReSound Multi Mic. Months of preparation had gone in to preparing for this groundbreaking moment, but it turned out that the aids were initially not as excited about talking to the Multi Mic as I was. They doggedly refused to leave airplane mode until I had practically snapped their battery doors off with my clumsy openings and closings to the prescribed instructions. Fortunately, the extra time afforded by this complication allowed me to come to terms with the fact that hearing aids could even have an airplane mode, and I made a mental note to remember not to send any aircraft into an accidental nosedive by listening to iTunes whilst airborne.

Now for the really, really exciting bit: hearing distant/ quiet speech wirelessly. The very helpful audiologist clipped the Multi-Mic to his lanyard and retreated to the farthest corner of the room, by chance mirroring the exact  behaviour of a student trying to escape from me during a hard of hearing tutorial. He uttered some words and waited for my reaction. It was impressive.

“OH MY GOD!!! That’s absolutely amazing!!! I can hear every word!!!” I shrieked, leaning right back in my seat to listen for further bon mots, just like other people do, instead of being bent double. Blimey, this was awesome. Amazingly, at almost the same time, someone shrieked “OH MY GOD!!! That’s absolutely amazing!!! I can hear every word!!!”, and this stopped further expressions of absolute amazement in their tracks, while a short circuited Cookie Bite Cortex tried to work out what the heck was going on. It turned out the other voice was actually mine being picked up from the far end of the room and wirelessly beamed back to me as an echo, so I’ll have to see how that one works out when I’m waxing lyrical during group tutorials. I don’t want to accuse anyone of talking complete rubbish only to discover that it’s actually me on a 40 millisecond time delay.

Demonstration over, I had to make a snap decision on whether to go for a 50% mix of multi-mic and hearing aids when in wireless mode, or 100% Multi Mic, so I opted for 100% Multi Mic to get my money’s worth (£372 inc.VAT to be precise). This is in the hope that with studio background noise levels muted slightly by silenced tulip domes, hearing through the Multi-Mic is going to be the way forward. Whether I have made a terrible decision there remains to be seen once live student trials commence in just under two weeks’ time, but whatever happens I’m stuck with it until my follow up appointment in 3 months’ time. Fortunately I have been allowed to hold on to the old Danalogics in the meantime, just in case any nasty surprises emerge in the real world.

With everything fully set up and tested, it was time to pack everything back into its box and release me to the wilds. I thanked the extremely helpful audiologist profusely for his interventions, and returned to work with high hopes…


Two eardrums were sighted by the practice nurse early yesterday morning, which is just as well, because apparently they don’t do wax removal any more. The Multi Mic has exited its box for charging, and the iPhone is finally unlocked and waiting. Now all that remains is to strip the Danalogics of their illegal zebra stripes, before beginning the final countdown to wireless connectivity at Clinic O tomorrow.

T minus 15 hours and counting…



It’s all in the timing…

Never mind all this recent talk of solar eclipses, an even more spectacular planetary alignment is destined to take place at Clinic O on 30th Sep. After months of meticulous preparation, several expensive items of digital listening kit are due to finally come together in the one room to make me…wait for it…wireless enabled on the NHS.

If all goes to plan, I should emerge triumphantly from Clinic O with a brand new set of wireless hearing aids and beaming, literally, from ear to ear. The fetching red NHS aids will be paired to the nifty GN ReSound multi mic purchased privately by my employer, and my niece’s cast off iphone will be poised to act both as a remote control and wireless music streaming marvel. The main aim behind all this, however, is to enable me to understand speech better at work when interacting with individual students and small groups in high levels of reverberant background noise.

Synchronising administrative matters in relation to the purchase and commissioning of the various elements has pushed my organisational skills to the limit in a very busy work schedule, but the current 6 month NHS waiting time has actually provided the latitude required to fit everything in, including the dreaded occupational health appointment and unexpectedly prolonged battle with iphone unlocking.

Now, only one final thing stands between me and full planetary alignment on the 30th. One final, nerve racking thing: a pair of wax free lugholes on the day…


Orrery in image by Ken Condal with a couple of non-planetary additions


The Shape of Things to Come?


I received a shock answerphone message from Clinic O the other day, and had to listen to it several times to make sure I’d heard correctly. Apparently there will be a delay on my hearing aid review appointment…of approximately 17 weeks. The original appointment to make some tweaks to the volume required a mere 12 week wait, so dabbling with your settings on the NHS is now a very long-drawn out affair. At this rate, the new user could find themselves eligible for their 3 yearly upgrade before initial adjustments to their new hearing aid have successfully concluded.

While I wait for my far-off appointment, I am amusing myself by dreaming of the day when I no longer need to interact with the infuriating volume wheel on the Danalogics. According to this New Scientist article, one day I might even be able to control the volume with my tensed knuckles instead. Apparently, some clever scientists at Saarland University in Saarbrücken, Germany, have developed tattoos which can turn knuckles and freckles into smartphone controls.

Should the scientists at Saarland ever turn their attentions to the fiddly business of hearing aid controls instead of smartphones, my daily frustrations with the Danalogic iFIT 71 volume wheel could become a thing of the past.

For example, my right knuckle could be programmed to respond to tension from my clenched fist; as background noise suddenly intensifies while I’m having an important conversation, my whitening knuckles could send a command to my hearing aids to switch on the directional mics. Whenever someone starts hammering in the background while I’m doing a group tutorial, the digging of my fingernails into the tabletop could act as a signal to activate the mute setting. And when standing in front of a packed lecture theatre, I could discreetly swipe my knuckle tattoos to control the volume whilst my hearing aids are still on my ears. I currently have to take them off and peer at the volume dial through my reading glasses every time I accidentally brush the wheel with my hand when touching my hair.


The original academic article from the Saarland team can be found here

See also DuoSkin tattoos from MIT Media Lab

I’m still waiting for someone to invent my hearing aid tattoos…


LOST part 2: Needle in a haystack



The queue to the gallery slowly inched forward in the rain, and I passed the time by thinking about the tedious business of getting a replacement hearing aid. I had just visualised the stage where they discover your ears need syringed after waiting two months for an appointment, when the gallery door suddenly opened and we were quickly ushered inside by the security guard.

Hearing aid search conditions inside had deteriorated rapidly since our previous visit, and as the spouse and I fought our way through the heat and noise of the crowd, I abandoned hope. There was no way a fallen hearing aid could survive, let alone be found in there.

The spouse was now beginning to get rather irritable.

“I mean how could you not notice the bloody thing falling off, surely you’d have noticed you couldn’t hear properly?” he shouted helpfully above the racket. “I mean, you were talking to people in here, you must have had it on, surely?”

I wasn’t about to go into explaining the black art of bluffing by talking at people in crowded rooms, so opted to be petulant instead.

“I can’t hear properly with the bloody thing on or off”, I snapped. “Not in situations like this.”

I stomped off into the crowd and began retracing my steps but, within seconds, it was clear that it was going to be a waste of time. People were standing all over my invisible thread, and trying to weave amongst them felt like tackling a rugby scrum. Wearily, I admitted defeat and went to talk at some nearby colleagues instead. Someone helpfully suggested I put out an ‘all staff’ email about my predicament, but whilst I was tempted by the thought of becoming the author of the most bizarre ‘Lost and Found’ email at the Institute of Artistic Endeavour since someone found an accordion on the front steps, I opted to keep my institutional dignity intact just for the moment.

The spouse was now keener than ever to get home, but once back outside in the rain, I decreed that there was a final check to be made. I picked up the invisible thread for one last time, and began following it downhill towards where we’d unpacked the luggage from the coach earlier in the evening. The thread ran out rather poetically just beside the ‘Hidden Hearing’ shop on the high street, but there was no sign of the aid. I found an interesting piece of red plastic in a pothole, though. It was now time to go home, and I was very much looking forward to attending to the trench foot which I was sure must be developing inside my sodden shoes. I wearily heaved my two rucksacks on to my shoulders and consoled myself that even if we’d found the aid by the bus stop, it would have been ruined by the rain anyway. It would have stood a better chance with the lonely slug back in Crianlarich. I stopped dead in my tracks.

“THE PHONE!” I shouted, clamping the spouse’s arm in a vice-like grip with excitement, “I think I listened to my voicemail when we first arrived back!  I need to take the aid out to listen to the phone…maybe it’s on my desk!””

“Well you’ve got no chance of finding it on there from what I saw earlier”, said the spouse, a little disparagingly, I thought. “I’ve had enough of this,” he declared, ” I’m going home.”

Without even stopping to berate him for his heartlessness, I shot back up the steep hill to the main building, my two rucksacks now seemingly weightless in the excitement. I burst breathlessly through the front door, and pursued my flight up the architecturally acclaimed central staircase. As I skidded round the corner and into the office, I almost heard the soles of my hiking boots give a little tyre screech on the naked concrete.

My remaining colleague looked bemused once more, as I began the frenzied excavation of my desk, in the manner of someone looking for a vital piece of evidence in a suspense film. Unfortunately, there was to be no cinematic denouement just yet. Once everything on the desk had been thrown to the floor, I slumped into my chair, defeated. The desktop was bare.

I stared, transfixed, at the illuminated red voicemail light, and wondered who had left a message. I now remembered that the spouse had dragged me off before I’d had a chance to listen to it earlier. I wearily reached to drag the phone by its cord to listen, when… I spotted a cheeky little flash of red underneath. Eureka! The denouement had finally arrived. The aid had been hiding under the phone the whole time!

To the imaginary accompaniment of the Hallelujah chorus, I popped my lost hearing instrument on to my overjoyed left ear, and finally set off for home.






Last night, the spouse and I had a nice happy glow as I prepared to leave the office. We had just returned from the annual student field trip to the highlands, and despite the foul weather, all had gone well. The last task of the day had been dumping the mud-spattered administrative relics of the trip on to my very messy desk, before heading home to relax.

“Can’t wait to get my wet shoes off and have a nice chilled glass of wine”, I said, as I ran my hand through my weather beaten hair. An unexpected sensation stopped me in my tracks.

“OH NO!” I shrieked, “IT’S GONE!!!!”

The spouse froze, and my colleague looked bemused as I bent double and frantically combed my left ear with my hand in the hope that I would feel something other than naked left ear. The right one was fortunately still making a hideous crackling noise when I touched it. I vigorously shook my hair with both hands, only to find it empty, and let out a serious round of expletives.

“WHAT’S gone?” said the spouse before the penny dropped. “Oh, for god’s sake, don’t tell me you’ve lost one of your bloody hearing aids”, he said, “When do you remember last having it?”

“Oh how the hell would I know,” I wailed, ” if I knew that…oh, it could be ANYWHERE…for all I know it might even be back in Crianlarich!” My heart sank.

The image of our rain soaked group photo half way up a mountain earlier in the day flashed through my mind, and I hoped my missing left aid hadn’t fallen off there as it might currently be being ravished by a sexually aroused slug. Its circuitry wouldn’t stand a chance against an onslaught of rain, mud and mucus. I shuddered and felt a pang of anguish for my lost friend, alone in the wilderness. It was too horrible. I needed hope. I summoned up a more attractive memory and felt a kind of peace as I imagined the lost aid fallen at the side of the forestry path we’d walked with the students earlier; in my mind’s eye, the aid was gently cradled in a soft pillow of green moss, attentively listening for the sound of a tree falling in the forest to see if it made a sound if I wasn’t attached to it. Even though data logging had taken all the mystery out of that one for me, it was time I put it back in with wondering whether the sound of the philosophical tree falling would be similar through either an open or a closed hearing aid fitting without changing the programming? Well that’s what they told me earlier in the week at clinic O when I expressed concern at them slapping a pair of open domes on, when they’re programmed for tulip domes. Pah. The memory of my visit to clinic O caused negative thoughts to intrude on my verdant mossy pillow, so I urgently pressed on with my mental odyssey to find the aid. Where else had we been that day?

I paused to think; we’d been on a long bus journey to get back home after the trip, and I remembered being annoyed by engine noise in stereo, and road noise from the bus driver’s open window so I must have still had both aids. I’d definitely have noticed if one aid was missing because I’d actually have been able to hear the spouse on the bus if I’d had an empty left earhole. He gets very annoyed when he tries to talk to me in the presence of low-frequency engine noise with my tulip domes. Hey, wait a minute…low frequencies…I suddenly remembered being terrified by the sudden noise of a helicopter hovering just above the glass cupola in the ceiling of the gallery we’d dropped into briefly, after first arriving back in Glasgow. I must have had both hearing aids then, because it turned out the helicopter noise overhead was actually music coming from speakers at the far end of the room. I wouldn’t have heard it without the left aid. Aha!

“THE GALLERY!” I shouted excitedly. With renewed hopes, we set off to re-trace our steps out of the building, pausing briefly at the front desk before leaving. I needed to tell the janitor that if anyone handed in a hearing aid which was bright red on one side, silver on the other and beige up the middle, then it was indisputably mine.

Once that was done, the spouse insisted on one final check before heading back down the road to the gallery. “Look in the toilet by the shop, just in case you dropped it in there”, he said and I obediently set off, eyes tracking an invisible path on the floor, like Ariadne’s ball of thread in the Labyrinth. Once the toilet had successfully been eliminated as a last resting place for my missing hearing instrument, we followed the invisible thread down the wet pavement outside to the gallery. The spouse was getting very annoyed by then because, to his untrained eye, there were so many beige cigarette ends to rule out of the search. When we finally reached an overflowing bin and looked up, things got even worse and my hopes were dashed.

In the time since we had left earlier, a massive queue had formed outside the gallery entrance. It turned out the exhibition space had become crowded to capacity after news of a sponsored pizza delivery had spread quickly on campus. The slug sex scene on a muddy mountainside now seemed like a better end for a lost hearing aid than being trampled to death on the floor of a gallery by hundreds of hungry students. When the Dominos delivery had first arrived, greasy slices of pepperoni were dropping everywhere in an orgiastic frenzy of pizza ripping, but this wasn’t the worst of it. Even if the aid survived the trampling and the pepperoni, the little plastic tubs of sauce that fell unnoticed out of the boxes would finish it off. I had stepped on one by accident earlier, and noticed that my 160lbs psi pressure turned it into a lethal spicy paintball gun.

With heavy hearts, the spouse and I patiently joined the long queue, hoping for a miracle…

to be continued…


It’s a Wrap

ha stickers silver2

During my most recent stint as a hearing research guinea pig at the MRC Institute of Hearing Research, the researcher asked if she could see my hearing aids to take a note of the model details. I did a surreptitious hygiene inspection and obediently passed one to her.

“Hmmm, the name seems to have worn off”, she said, peering at the naked beige underbelly in the hope of finding clues. I needed to step in.

“It’s a Danalogic i-FIT e-Series 71, courtesy of NHS Greater Glasgow and Clyde”, I said helpfully. “Also known as The Mighty Chipolata on account of its standard issue size and colour.”

Whether it was my unusually precise knowledge of the spec, or the unusual appearance of the aid which surprised her, I wasn’t sure.

“Danalogic? Really? …I’ve never seen one like this before”, she said, examining the two-tone results of my latest time saving decorative strategy. It involves applying self adhesive film only to the parts of the aid which are visible whilst on the ear, apart from the ugliest and most visible bit on top with all the buttons and holes which defies even the most dextrous decorator. The controls are the bit design forgot; they aesthetically scream ‘HEARING AIDS!!! AGHHH!!!’ and a mere glimpse can make people standing behind you in a ticket queue very restless. Even the most conformable self-adhesive material known to man* cannot surround the monstrous volume wheel and battery drawer protrusion without the whole thing looking like a badly wrapped parcel, or worse, a home made explosive device. Less is definitely more, I have decided, when working with sticky backed plastic and the Danalogic i-FIT 71.

If you’re in possession of a Glasgow-style NHS Danalogic yourself and you’d like to have a go at testing my minimalist wrapping strategy, here is a handy minimalist sticker template for the model shown. The Mighty Chipolatas in the picture are wearing lovely 60 micron Oracal film offcuts pinched from under my colleague’s desk while she’s on holiday (sorry Jo!). They’ve got blue metallic embroidery thread on the tubes.

*Oracal High Performance Cast 751, you can flawlessly wrap every part of a racing car with this sleek and cutting edge stuff, but the Danalogic’s control panel has got it beat. Mind you, if you think wrapping a hearing aid is a bit fiddly, spare a thought for these guys (and don’t be tempted to use a blowtorch on your HAs)





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