Closet Deaf Diva

This past Friday I went to (what seems a damn-near weekly appearance) the VA Medical Center for a hearing test. Since I came back from Iraq, I have been having the hardest time hearing in crowded areas and hearing nothing amplified white noise when I am alone in the quiet. Almost sounds as if my head is in a Champaign glass or something (I wish). I guess that's what happens when a mortar drops right behind your deluxe accommodations while you are asleep. Doesn't give you any time to put in your ear plugs they adamantly demand you keep on your IBA (interceptor body armor) at all times. Anyway, you can probably guess that the outcome wasn't good if I am writing about it. It was about what I thought it would be. A big indicator was the test I took on my final examinations on my way out of the Army. The audiologist said that my hearing has decreased in my left ear by about 15%. The only thing that this audiologist said to me was that I lost "quite a bit of hearing in the high and midrange and that I would have to come back for more testing." Oh, and the Champaign bubbles? That's probably tinitus, something they will have to monitor. Well, whatever the white noise is, it's not quiet.

I am pretty curious what the outcome will be. I don't think that it would bother me if I have to wear a hearing aid. If anything, it will give me something in common to talk about with my youngest nephew who is 70% deaf in both ears. I think the conversations would be interesting. He is a very smart guy (no longer a kid, I suppose). I wonder how he would feel if I told him it was because of a mortar. Maybe when he is a little older. I have only been back a year. But I could imagine the conversations with T. I remember he and our grand/great-grandfather were talking once about their hearing aids. T. told Grandpa that when my sister starts nagging, he turns off his hearing aids. Grandpa laughed very hard, saying that he does the same thing when Grandma starts yammering. To see the similarities across the generations was pretty intriguing to me.

In a sick little way, I sort of wish I was still in the Army being diagnosed with this problem. Just thinking of things I could have ignored. It reminded me of a story someone sent me while I was stationed at Bragg and he at Campbell. He was sort of in the same boat as I except his, I believe, was degenerative. But I received an email from him back in OCT 98 about an incident that occurred while he was doing his morning PT (physical training):

Picture this: a crisp, cool October morning at Ft. Campbell. A rather handsome, young E5 (SGT) 96B (All-Source Intelligence Analyst) is rucking down a deserted road by himself, happy at one with the universe. Suddenly, a 101st Ordinance Company breaks the solitude, complete with rucks, ducks (solid rubber weapon look-a-likes), pro masks (gas masks), kevlars, and of course, the company guideon. Because this is a tactical road march, the first person in the column asks the amazingly sexy 96B if he is friend or enemy. The 96B, being a kind and gentle soul, replies with, "I'm a fucking Viet Cong, you asswipe. What do you think??" Moving down the road, our hero then meets the CO (commanding officer) of the Ordinance Company, CPT Choadsmoker, who unwisely decides to yell at the suave 96B because his LBV (load bearing vest) is unbuckled. The 96B, being a good NCO (non-commissioned officer), not wanting to make this young captain look like a total idiot in front of his troops, merely points to his unit patch (my friend was with 5th Special Forces Group at the time) and makes a reference to the captain's lack of real wings (he was airborne as opposed to air assault... always a big dick measuring contests between the two groups, although I feel that air assault wings are about fucking useless), and suggests that maybe the captain can "mind his own fucking business." The captain, who is obviously well loved by his troops, did not appear to enjoy the laughter at his expense. He requested that the attractive 96B stop to discuss this issue further. The 96B did not stop. The captain reached, and maintained, a volume that turned his face red and made all his veins stick out of his head. But still the 96B kept strolling away, commenting to himself that a hearing profile (a restriction of capabilities) can be a wonderful thing.

Even today I still get a really good laugh from this story- mainly because I can see him saying and doing everything. It's a shame we are no longer friends, per se, but that is another story all in itself, and it doesn't have anything to do with the loss of hearing... more like listening.