| What Did You Say? He's lived a lifetime of listening, so it's not that. He's mentally sharp, and more active at 78 than I am at 47, so it's not that. He gets along with people and has a good sense of humor, so it's not that. What it is, is the six-inch stern deck gun on the USS Okaloosa that was shot off about 10 feet away from him in 1945. At the time, he merely found it annoying. He and the other guys wondered why they weren't warned so they could've at least covered their ears. They tried to continue their Navy medical corps training that morning in spite of the ringing in their ears; eventually the ringing stopped and the words starting coming through again, and all was back to normal. Except that it really wasn't back to normal. Eighteen-year-old Bill didn't know it at the time, but his ears had just been irreparably damaged. The good news was that he would have several more decades of pretty good hearing. The bad news was that, once the deterioration started in his 70s, it would speed through his life like a train out of control. Now, at age 78, my dad struggles to understand what the world is saying to him. He's getting better at reading lips. He judiciously adjusts his hearing aids to try to compensate for the varying background noise levels. He intentionally makes himself stay involved in all the various activities he has, because he knows the threat of isolation that hearing loss promises. We have a close family. He's never happier than when hugging on his grandkids, with whom he has formed a mutual admiration society. Through the past decade, my mom, siblings and I have fumbled around trying to teach ourselves, each other and our children how best to communicate with Papa. Trial and error…good attempts, and guilty non-attempts. I'd give us a D for effort at the beginning, and an A for effort these days -- and Bs, Cs and Ds for execution, depending. But you'd think it would be all As when dad goes to the doctor office, wouldn't you? I mean, those people *surely* get it! But I'm here to tell you, that's the exception to the rule. And it's not that dad needs to get a new doctor -- the one he has now is as good as the others have been, maybe even better in some regards. It's bigger than that. There's a whole system out there of sloppy communication, and the medical community is just another participant. I want to send everyone, the whole world, to etiquette school. I can see it now: The School for Advancement of Clearer Enunciation and Proper Phrasing. I want to tell front desk clerks and phone appointment-makers that one must slow way down and move one's lips in order to be heard. I want to demonstrate to nurses and lab technicians how to touch my dad on the arm to get his attention before they begin to speak to him or do something to him, so he can look at their lips and know what they want from him. I'd like to tell doctors and PAs to look up from the chart and face my dad before they speak. I'd like them to raise their hand and show two fingers when they say, “You need to take this twice a day,” to make sure he can visualize what they're wanting of him, in case he misses the “twice” as they run it together way too fast with the other words. There's so much I want to tell them all. Mostly I want to tell them that this is important not only for Bill's sake, but for their own as well. After all, they are most likely going to be in Bill's shoes in a little while. Or someone they love will. And then they'll “get it.” But I'd really like them to get it now. If nothing else, they owe Bill this. He was one of the 17-year-olds who lied about his age in order to sign up and defend the world against a threat. He eagerly trained, and that training caused what is now causing him to strain toward you and say, “What did you say?” You owe it to him to slow down, phrase properly, pronounce clearly, and do everything in your power to make sure he's comfortable communicating with you. But even if he'd gotten the hearing loss another way, we'd owe him our best efforts. Why? Because…well, just because he's my dad. And just because he's my kids' beloved Papa. Because he likes people, and he likes talking and listening. Because he likes laughing at good jokes. And he likes good conversation over dinner. Just because he doesn't deserve to be shut out of life simply because his ears don't work.
-Dianne Webb |
