In recent days my world has clicked and rustled and rattled. Birds have started singing again in the early morning. My foot strikes the carpet and a smart rap is heard. Opening an envelope is a musical experience, and as I type these words the keyboard clicks smartly.
I have re-entered the world of sound. I’m reading lips less and hearing more. The winds of winter blow and my ears sense the rustle of molecules in flight. Most remarkable are the slurpings and the snapping of my own mastication.
I am newly born into this world of sound.
My hearing aids literally cost more than my car. I’m learning small skills: In the morning I poke a slender little microphone into an orifice that I cannot see; in the evening I remove it and encounter the day’s crop of soft brown wax. I use an alcohol swab to cleanse the mike. This routine will bring excitement to the balance of my days upon this earth.
So loud, so clear the clarion of the world! Is this how the baby feels on leaving its mothers warm, wet world of silence?
Never at home with gadgets I advertised first for an ear trumpet. E-bay offered none. So I play host to these miniature miracles in my auricles, bemused as ever by the absurdity of surviving longer than my senses as well as numerous other worn-out parts.
Next will be the cataract surgery. I hope to report then on a world of light.