You see, I am going deaf.

A doctor broke the news to me one afternoon in Pennsylvania.

Notice that I said a doctor. He was not my doctor, so I could have ignored his unsolicited announcement.

Did you ask, how did I discover him?

It was one of those routine medical forms you complete as a new employee. He was the doctor that examined my ear.

“You will go deaf in this ear.”

He said those words with an urgency similar to, “I would rather have jelly with my toast this morning please.”

Ever since, I have been more conscious of the sounds and sentences I don’t pick up.

Please don’t get upset about having to repeat your words again. His voice was a lot louder than yours when he said with a tone of finality, “Yup. You are going deaf.”

I remember being in a state of disbelief knowing that my father had given us the best medical care, a middle class income could afford. Regular optician visits, routine dental checkups, and a couple of trips to, believe it or not, the ENT specialist.

Who did this man think he was to take away my rounded perception of my health?

When I asked, he said he saw a lot of scarring. “Probably, an accidental poke or a recurring ear infection.” That night, I called my mother.

“Never did such a thing happen to you.” She shouted. Although we were continents away from each other, I could feel her rising to her feet to defend her guarded responsibility as a mother. Who is that person that said you are going deaf again?”

I didn’t expect less from her and from you until now.

Did you say, “I love you”?

Please say those words again for I am certainly going deaf.





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