ON APRIL 10 I WILL ONCE AGAIN, for the second, actually third, truly the fourth, time begin the long process of trying to acquire an effective hearing aid. My right ear is about shot.

I’ve tried again and again to get hearing aids, but it never works out. My need for one has dragged on for 30 years only because of my own ambivalence. I have long considered that being partially deaf since age 18 was a minor hindrance only. I never honestly noticed how it significantly it had changed me, until recently.

My love of live music and animated nightlife is what finally brought me to enlightenment and disillusionment; that, along with some serious and unintentional role-modeling and prodding from my friend Deb Kittrell, who is also a Kaiser advice nurse. I’ll get to that next week.

To consolidate the ear story, I did something stupid as a teenager. I thought at the time I was being cautious, but reality said otherwise. I tried to fix a friend’s rear car speaker while five of us guys were out cruising for babes. A loose wire was causing the sound to cut out. I tightened the wire and put the speaker to my lips to feel for vibrations. None. I tipped the speaker to my right ear for confirmation. Turning it caused the wire to connect. I got blasted right in the ear with Three Dog Night singing “One is the Loneliest Number.” Crack went my eardrum. One stupid move became a lifelong handicap.

Thirty years ago I got a Beltone when I started teaching. It worked fine for years, but my hearing progressively deteriorated as the aid grew weaker. I finally discarded it. About 23 years later all the mumblings of my students drove me to try again.

I tried a quick fix. Instead of Kaiser, I went to Costco. They sell hearing aids. I scheduled a test. After the test, the employee said to me, “Mr. Gibbs, I sell hearing aids to a lot of people, but it would be illegal for me to sell one to you. Your hearing is so bad, the required amplification would cause further damage. We can’t help you.”

A few years later, I went to Kaiser. First came the appointment for a cleaning, then a hearing test, then a fitting, then a follow up visit. The hearing aid they gave me didn’t seem to make much difference. After two weeks, instead of paying thousands of dollars, I gave it back.

A few years ago, I tried again. Technology had advanced. I went through the four visits — cleaning, testing, fitting, follow-up. It didn’t work. The aid they gave me hooked behind my ear with a thin transparent hose attached. I’m to stuff that hose inside my ear when I put it on. In the lab, it worked. He gave me a test and I heard all the words. I passed. Then I took it home for a 50-day trial.

Big problem. Because I’m deaf, I have no feeling in that ear. I could never tell if the hose was in my ear or sticking out like a wild hair. I couldn’t hear any better at school and always thought it was because the hose was loose. It became so frustrating, I took it back and said, please give me one with a mold on the end of the hose that I can stuff snuggly into my ear. He said we don’t have those. You’ll have to go to Walnut Creek Kaiser and start over. I didn’t start over. I gave up again.

Now, years later, after my epiphany and a long talk with Neil, my personal Kaiser physician, I have decided to have another go. He assures me that Vallejo Kaiser has a hearing aid with a mold to jam in my ear. That’s all I needed to hear. He made me an April 10 appointment. I’ll keep you posted on how it turns out.

Now, back to the disillusionment.

I can’t hear what people are saying in noisy environments. Sometimes I can’t catch all the words in movies and songs. That has been the extent of my disability. It seems minor. What I hadn’t realized is how those few hindrances added up over the years to a significant downgrade in my overall happy factor.

All of my adult life at dinner parties, nightclubs, and noisy social gatherings, I have stayed out of the conversations. Everyone at the table will be talking and laughing. I just sit at the end and gaze about the room. I read the wall posters, the backs of menus, and observe the other patrons. If someone does try to talk to me in a noisy room, I smile and nod, but I don’t have a clue what they’re saying. I’m simply listening for a rise in the voice. Then I know I’ve been asked a question and will respond with, “Huh?” and a cupping of my hand over my good ear.

Here has been my lie to myself. I’ve been telling myself that this sitting out on socializing is OK. I’m not missing out on anything important. It’s just idle chatter. That’s where I’ve been wrong.

I also see by the old words on the wall that this will be a two-part topic. See you next week.

Steve Gibbs teaches at Benicia High School and has written a column for The Herald since 1985.

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