Posts Tagged 'hearing aid disasters'

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…


No Greater Love…

i heart hearing aids

“This is all your fault!” I shouted at the spouse on the station steps, “If you hadn’t decided to get the same train as me this morning, I wouldn’t have forgotten to put my hearing aids in!

The spouse took a deep breath. Now was not the time for him to question the logic of this last statement.

“…Today of all days,” I ranted on, “I can’t be late for the assessments… and I need to hear what’s being said!”

“Do you want to go back and get them?” interjected the spouse rather sensibly. “We can just get a taxi into work instead.”

I hesitated slightly at the attractiveness of this proposition, but decided to take a more hormonally irrational approach.

“No.” I said, “I’ve managed to get by without the damn things for forty-odd years, and I bloody hate taxis.” A vibration on the metal steps underfoot spurred me into action. “Hurry up!” I snapped,  “we need to get tickets, I can hear the train coming…”

The spouse rolled his eyes as he watched a dustbin lorry rumble past. It didn’t sound anything like a train to him.

Half an hour later, as everyone gathered with their clipboards in the studio at work, my heart sank as I realised I couldn’t make out the pre-assessment chit-chat. I felt a pang of remorse and wished I’d listened to the spouse on the station steps instead of shouting at him. Why hadn’t I just gone back to get the bloody aids when I had the chance? What an idiot. This was going to be a very long day.

Just as the assessment proceedings were finally about to get underway, the studio door opened and the spouse appeared. What was he doing here? He was supposed to be hanging an exhibition in another building…I was confused. Heads turned as he strode in and handed me a tiny plastic snack box. I couldn’t believe it. This was either the smallest packed lunch of all time, or…

“My hearing aids!” I exclaimed, as I noisily snapped the box open in front of my curious colleagues, “Thanks Hun!”

Unbeknownst to me, the spouse had waved me off at the entrance to work and gone all the way back home to fetch my ear gear. Even after being shouted at.

If I hadn’t already married him, dear readers, I’d have decided to marry him on the spot.


Blog Stats

  • 184,643 hits