Too soft or too loud and very little in between

I have always been a music lover. My first concert for my 15th birthday was Third Eye Blind. I had memorized all the lyrics to all the songs. Back then, it was possible for me to gather most of the lyrics just by listening. But, over the years, I have slowly sought out the dust jacket or online lyric databases to fill in the gaps for me.

I went through that angry female music fan stage in my early teens too. I loved Alanis Morrisette and Fiona Apple. They both had such resonance in their voices and an amazing ability to create melody. Funny enough, it would take years of listening to them over and over to understand that most of their songs, not just their perspective anthems “You Oughtta Know” and “Criminal” were pretty violent. I still think they are both great artists but I often wonder what my family must have thought when that was all I listened to. I didn’t realize what the subject was all the time. But, I must have behaved as if I did. After all, I would sing those lyrics that I could understand and then mumble the rest. I would bluff my way through a song. But, get me on stage for karaoke to any of the songs I loved during my childhood and I lose my place as I quickly realize what I heard was not what the songwriters had intended.

The first dance on my wedding day was a beautiful song by Chantal Kreviazuk called “Home.” I had carefully picked it out for its beauty and its lyrics. I had listened to it over and over. The day of my wedding, I took that first spin on the dance floor and sang my version of the song. The wedding video showed that my mouth was out of sync with the music. My husband commented on it and suggested it was poor editing. I knew better. I had lost my place in the music that day and couldn’t continue properly. So, I was improvising, trying to mouth the words I could hear.

I guess a lot of times I didn’t know or didn’t want to realize what it was that I couldn’t hear. I distinctly remember a hearing exam at the House Institute in L.A. when I was a teenager. I asked my mom to sit in the booth with me. The audiologist conceded. My mom was sitting directly in front of me as I responded to the tones and words coming from the headphones. They didn’t sound loud or frequent to me but I could tell by the look on my mom’s face that they were both. Slowly, her worry showed on her face as I missed words or failed to respond to a tone. She could hear it while I had headphones on! I was shocked.

Over the last few years, though, changes in my hearing loss have made me more susceptible to hyperacusis. This means that certain sounds are painfully loud to me. It depends on whether I am having a good AIED day or not. It’s never clear what sounds will make me want to jump through the roof. The only consistent sounds that have always bothered me beyond the obvious--background noise--are sirens and any mechanical noises.

My first summer in college, I returned home to L.A. and got a job as a docent at local museum. I loved the public-speaking component. I loved guiding the tours and asking thought-provoking questions of the visitors along the way. But, my most vivid memory has to be the day I unwittingly made a scene over a visitor’s hearing aid.

Toward the very end of the tour, a video would play on a large screen. I had heard it dozens of times and practically knew it by heart. My job was to pose a short question and answer session in that room post-video before taking all the visitors upstairs to the next exhibit. Immediately after the video started to play, I began hearing a persistent, painfully high-pitched squeal. I checked my hearing aid, nope it wasn’t that. I couldn’t identify the source or the direction as usual, but after a couple of minutes I couldn’t take it anymore. I called the I.T. guy on site to come take a look at the speaker system. The I.T. guy came and quickly determined it wasn’t the speakers.

One of the visitors gave me a look and pointed discreetly to an elderly man among the group who I hadn’t noticed. Clear as day, sat two hearing aids, one on each of the man’s ears. I was so embarrassed for him and me. My hearing aid interacts with all kinds of sounds—the microwave going off, the alert signal when I leave my car door ajar, the waves coming from a retail store’s metal detector—but this was the first time I had heard someone else’s feedback through my own aid. Fortunately, for me, the gentleman appeared oblivious that the whole scene was caused by his hearing aids and I quickly led the group upstairs.