My better ear is worse.
The muffled, garbled sound trapped inside my head.
Missing conversation, even in a quiet room.
Having to ask everyone to repeat everything.
It is not a result of swelling or pressure or blockage.
It is the result of loss -- persistently gnawing away at me.
I have gone down this road before. Sitting in that little chair in the sound booth while my audiologist sounds tones in my ears -- and knowing.
Knowing that it isn't a malfunction of my hearing aids. Knowing that what precious little hearing I have left is slowly slipping away. Knowing that I am powerless to stop it. Knowing that my doctor will be sitting before me in a few minutes, delivering the news that more of my hearing has been stolen from me by an unknown and invisible adversary. And feeling hopeless. And fearful of what is to come.
We cannot stop the onslaught. We cannot throw in the towel or cry uncle. This hearing thief is a tenacious and relentless beast. It is hungry, and it cannot be sated.
The implant will be activated in a couple of weeks. It will bring about the perception that I can hear. But it won't be the same. What's lost is gone forever.