A couple weeks ago my Beloved and I met our Older Son and his
Lovely Girlfriend at a food truck event for dinner. Sadly, the trucks ran out of food causing us
to scramble to find another place to eat.
Because we had not only my hearing dog with us but Lovely Girlfriend’s
darling pet dog, we opted for a local pub where the patio allows non-working canine
friends.
Despite the lively conversations around us, I was able to
keep up within our group of four (Lovely Girlfriend speaks loudly and clearly
and faces me!) and we had a great time.
Then the skies opened and the rain poured down forcing us to
grab our dinners and our dogs and head inside, a place normally off limits to
pets. We found a table and settled in,
waiting until the rain slowed enough that we could leave. It took a while!
In the meantime the population of the bar doubled with more
and more people arriving every few minutes.
The music overhead was loud rock from the 90s and it wasn’t long before
my brain decided to stop processing sound.
I was on complete aural overload.
My Beloved sensed my predicament and shouted, “Turn your
hearing aids off!” I did, and enjoyed
the dimming of the din. Of course this
meant I could no longer hear the conversation, but Beloved interpreted using
the limited ASL we know. Soon even that
was exhausting.
The rain eventually slowed and we four humans and two pups
made our way outside. Older Son gave me
a hug and said, “You know, none of us could hear in there. The noise hurt our ears, too. It wasn’t just you, so don’t feel bad.”
He was right; we were all in the same boat. The bar was a great equalizer. Sometimes I forget that I’m not the only one
in the group who misses words, misunderstands conversation, or has trouble
hearing in loud noise. Sometimes we’re
all the same.
B. Burton
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