GETTING OLDER HAS many benefits, but with the good things sometimes come some adjustments to make. Things don't work so well as they did. Memory is not so sharp, eyes don't focus as well especially at night, and the ears don't always hear correctly. A friend tells me that when a person grows old, there are three things that change. The first is the memory, and then we can't remember the other two. Well, so long as we can keep our sense of humor and be able to laugh at ourselves occasionally, we will survive.

Becoming hard of hearing is, I believe, one of the most difficult problems with which to cope. Other people quickly recognize a blind person, but people with minimized hearing are not so detectable. My husband became very hard of hearing in his later years. He had been a welder for many years. Most of those years were before any employer was required to demand the use of ear plugs. Also, he had been a smoker which added to the problem by decreasing the circulation in the inner ear. He accepted the hearing deficit quite well, and laughed about hearing things wrong, eventually got his two hearing aids, and was grateful for their help.

Adjusting to the hearing problem is a book all by itself. Adjusting for the mate of a hard of hearing person is another book which needs to be written. No longer does the couple exchange little whispered comments when among a group of people; no longer can the mate call to the non-hearer as he goes out the door and expect him to hear; and no longer can little sweet nothings be enjoyed. It is a world of silence for the hard of hearing. It can also be a time of non-communication and thereby loneliness for both partners. In restaurants, I used to get a little jealous of those couples that could sit and enjoy a conversation with its chuckles, secrets, and fellowship. Non-hearers can see lips moving but it means nothing to them.

When my husband and I were in a crowd of people he watched to see who's lips were moving to see if he could speak without "butting in". On the way home, he and I would recap what had been said. I could make him hear generally, especially in the car because of the proximity. Also, I had learned how to speak to him to make him hear. It is not a matter of yelling. Yelling into the ear makes everything worse; there is the reverberation but no distinction of sound. I had to first make sure he was looking at me, then I spoke in a conversational low voice and enunciated as well as I could, and he and I learned to enjoy reasonable communication.

It is lonely in the world of silence brought on by deafness. It is also nerve-wracking in cases where someone not used to the deaf tries to communicate, especially for the one trying to get the message. So it makes the hard-of-hearing people to be nervous people, which certainly does not help the hearing. There was the beginning of the hearing deficit time when my husband Arne was sure everyone was just mumbling, or whispering. That is the phase when he sometimes got the idea we were saying something he wasn't supposed to hear. After tests, which took some gentle persuasion, it was confirmed that the problem was his hearing. I'll never forget when he got his first hearing aid. We walked out of the store, and after a few steps, Arne stopped, looked around, and then said, "Oh, that's the birds I hear". How terrible to have not had the opportunity to hear the songs of the birds. His hearing gradually worsened to the place where he needed two aids, and sometimes that didn't help too much. His greatest sadness about his hearing was that he couldn't hear the gentle little voices of his grandchildren. However, it is amazing to me how those children learned little gestures, and facial expressions to communicate with him. How wonderful that little children can sometimes be more accepting than adults. Arne had a pleasant personality and so no one ever showed disrespect. It seemed that everyone was patient. Teenagers were really nice to him, which made him grin.

I believe the dumbest thing I ever said to him was, "Honey, if you don't hear me, tell me!" Then when I thought of that stupidity, and communicated to Arne what I had said, we both got a big laugh. His sense of humor got him through it all. When there was a student dance at the school where I was teaching, and when I needed to go there to represent the staff, sometimes he would go with me. The blasting music of the young as they swayed and bounced to the music didn't bother him a bit; he just turned his hearing aids off. He loved watching the young people as they danced, laughed, and enjoyed the evening.

Maybe one of the worst things about the problem was that he couldn't hear over the phone even with the devices that we had installed. We developed ways to get the message across when I called him from work. We coped. He always said it was much better to be deaf than to be blind. His great attitude helped us all.

There was one time that his hearing really surprised me; my daughter called. She had spent some time on the stage, and so had learned to project her voice. Also, she had learned how to talk to Arne so she could generally get her point across. This particular time she asked for her father, and he got to the phone, and shortly turned, tears in his eyes, a grin on his face, and gave the phone to me. The news, which he had heard in all clarity, was that he was going to be a grandfather. He heard that!

They say good news travels fast, but it needs to be heard first. If anyone were to ask how we both coped, I would have to say my husband's patience, his sense of humor, and his accepting attitude. My years have taught me that most obstacles can be overcome or at least tolerated. We tolerated together. Where love abides, all things seem easier.