Wall of sound

I got my hearing aids this week, and as my audiologist promised, I'm living in a whole new world. An incredibly, frighteningly, painfully noisy world.

They're tiny little things, small enough to fit on a quarter with room to spare. Unless you're looking, you wouldn't notice them. Looking in the mirror, all I can see are the wee little translucent knobs that stick ever-so-slightly out of my ear so I can take them out. They're color-coded: Red for my right ear, blue for my left.

And they work -- perhaps too well. Everything, you see, is amplified. If I'm having a conversation at work, I can hear the other person perfectly. I can also hear every phone around us ringing, every paper being shuffled, every nail being bitten, every sigh being sighed, etc. Walking down the street, I hear snippets of every conversation. I hear people's pants going swish-swish as they walk. I hear cars and trucks and buses going by and, quite honestly, I wish they would shut the hell up. My computer sounds like a garbage disposal as it works. I'm being very gentle with the keyboard as I type this, but to my new-and-improved ears, it sounds like I'm pounding hard enough to break the keys.

The audiologist warned me that the first weeks would be overwhelming, not to mention uncomfortable. The things whistle when I take them in and out, or when my head gets too close to another object. My own voice sounds hollow and reedy -- try sticking your fingers in your ears and talking, and you'll get what I mean -- and not at all like me. I feel like I'm taking in the world from inside a fishbowl -- like there's an odd and obvious disconnect with anybody I encounter.

Still, I can hear, and that's what I wanted. And all for just $4,600!