The Impact of Hearing Loss in My Musical Life
Written in November 2023
My first piano lesson was in the first semester of my first-grade year in public school, during the fall semester of 1955, just over 68 years ago. I took piano lessons non-stop for nineteen years, through both my bachelor's and master's degrees. In 1984, I began work on a PhD and resumed piano lessons for several semesters, earning my doctorate in 1995. Music began as an interest in my childhood and became my life work. I became a church pianist and an accompanist at about age 12. I was active in musical programs through public school, college, and graduate school. I was a university music professor beginning in 1974 until my retirement in 2010. My teaching specialties included piano, organ, and music theory.
I was one of two excellent piano students in my small high school and became the primary accompanist for solos, ensembles, and choir. At the same time, I served as pianist, and later as organist, at my local church. I accompanied all manner of solos and ensembles (both vocal and instrumental) in college and served as the choir accompanist for much of that time. In my work as a church musician and a university professor, I have always been involved in teaching - as a soloist, an accompanist, a church pianist and organist, and a choir director. In my retirement, I sing in our church choir and serve as substitute pianist for our church. Music has been part of my life as long as I can remember.
By the time I was first fitted with hearing aids, sometime before my 50th birthday (1999), I had needed hearing aids for quite some time. My hearing loss initially was at the mild/moderate levels, but gradually declined over the next 20+ years, until I reached a low point a couple of years ago. I was told that I could get no additional benefit from hearing aids. I became a candidate for a cochlear implant (CI) when the U.S. Medicare system revised their requirements in September 2022. In June 2023, I decided to proceed with the surgery; the surgery was November 7, 2023; activation is December 5, 2023. I will be bimodal, with a CI on the left side and a hearing aid in my right ear.
I learned early on, as the university choral accompanist, to watch the director very carefully in rehearsals. I was always 'in sync' with him; if he turned back two pages, I did, too. He became quite predictable as to a logical starting point, so I was always prepared when he gave instruction to the choir.
In 2000, or thereabouts, I became organist and choir director for a small church in northwest Oklahoma. A majority of the choir were unable to read music; they had learned to sing 'in harmony' with others. There was plenty of chatter during rehearsals. Rehearsals were frustrating for me. It was one of the first times that communication became a serious issue for me, as I could not differentiate between the chatter and discussion of musical matters. I couldn't talk to the women about a musical issue because the men were chattering amongst themselves, and vice versa. I was new enough with hearing loss that I didn't feel comfortable advocating for myself. That said, several of the choir members were also hearing impaired, with communication problems of their own.
At my university, the position of Director of Graduate Studies became available. I envisioned it as 'the way out' of my predicament as a hearing-impaired music professor. The position, however, was only half-time. The other half of my job would remain in the music department, including the job of choral accompanist. I applied for the position and was hired. Within two years, I convinced the administration that the new position should be made full time. My time in the music department came to an end. I served another few years in the graduate office before officially retiring in 2010.
The recently-hired choir director came to me immediately after I became a full-time administrator and asked if I would continue to accompany a community choir, comprised of university students and interested members of the community. I agreed to do that, but reminded her of my limitations. She made a special effort to give me page and measure numbers during rehearsals, sometimes using hand signals to reinforce her verbal instruction. That worked nicely, until such time as she arranged the chairs into a large circle and began moving all around the choir room giving instructions to singers. I could neither hear her nor see enough of her visual cues. During this time, my hearing took a turn for the worse and I finally had to give up accompanying altogether. I was so frustrated by then that I did not miss accompanying at all. I was more than ready to be away from it.
I decided that, prior to retirement, I would present a final organ recital. I gathered the music, learned it all, registered it for the organ, created an outline of the program, and began to practice. Before long, I realized that my hearing aids were causing all manner of excruciatingly painful feedback, probably due to the many overtones that the organ pipes created. I was unable to distinguish pitches in the upper registers. Many of the notes sounded quite shrill and out of tune, and I was often unsure that I was playing the right notes. Sadly, I gave up plans for that recital.
I had an extensive library of Classical and sacred organ music, collected over a lifetime as a church musician and as a student of Classical organ literature. I gave half of my library to the church I had served. The other half of the collection was gifted to the organ department at the University of Oklahoma. I was invited to serve the community of Norman, Oklahoma, as a substitute church organist and was ensured that I would probably be busy every Sunday, or as often as I wanted to be. Sadly, I had to turn down the offer due to my poor hearing. I was a fine organist and I terribly miss playing the instrument.
One of the many frustrations I experience as a hearing-impaired pianist is that I do not have a sense of the actual dynamic levels I use in any piece of music. I rely solely on muscle memory and my sense of touch on the keys to guide me in every piece I play - pieces that run the gamut from ppp to fff. In recent years, my wife has complained that I often play too loudly - to the point that she sometimes covers her ears or leaves the room. She also tells me on occasion that I am talking too loudly. Both of those, of course, are simply because everything sounds quieter to me. I play and speak at levels that seem normal to my own ears.
I recall that a few times in a music appreciation class I taught in college a number of years ago, some students would ask me to turn the volume down on the stereo system because the music was too loud. I always read Beethoven's Heiligenstadt Testament, his writing about his own deafness, to that class. During one reading, after my own hearing had gotten so bad, I cried as I read it to the class - and I never read it aloud again.
In December 2022, I presented a piano recital of Advent and Christmas music at our small church in Norman. By this time, I was unable to distinguish pitches in the upper octave of the piano - all I could hear was the percussive thud of the hammers against the strings - and some of the music required those keys to be played. I played to a full house and got a standing ovation. That morning, however, I realized as soon as I put my hearing aids in that there was a problem with them. Nothing at all sounded right. The sound was tinny, very weak and distant, barely audible, with considerable feedback. There was no possibility of help from my audiologist, as it was the weekend and her office was closed.
I played the recital. In my own ears, the music sounded horrible, barely recognizable. I relied solely on my life-long musical training, particularly for cues about dynamic changes, which were unrecognizable to me; everything sounded the same volume - the very same quiet volume. The recital was recorded via video and, later, I was pleased how beautiful the music sounded. The hearing aid repair was simple and I was given instruction on how to fix it myself if it happened again - and it has, several times. A small drop of water had gotten into one of the tubes.
Writing about that experience to my audiologist, I wrote: "I'm worn out, physically and emotionally - and honestly, after tonight's concert, I feel defeated, brought down by my hearing loss. I've worn a smiley face all evening, but it's pretty much been for show. I know that I've probably not quite 'hit bottom' with my hearing, but it sure as hell seemed like it tonight. I know for certain that I cannot go on like this. If an implant will improve my hearing, then I think it's time to move in that general direction."
Following that episode, I began to study the CI in depth via the many resources available online - manufacturers' web pages, CI user support groups on Facebook, CI user blogs, videos, and the like. I learned that CI offers no guarantees about one's hearing. Though there were some stories of failures, the success stories were more numerous by far. My decision to undergo the surgery was made June 7, 2023, a decision that removed the despair from my life and replaced it with hope and anticipation. My evaluation was done July 31, 2023. The wait for approval from Medicare took a long while, but they finally approved it - and I owed nothing as a co-pay.
Ultimately, my decision was an act of faith - faith in the technology, in the surgeon and the surgical team, and in myself, that I will be able to put in the time and effort necessary to make this a successful venture. I have the support of my wife, my family, and my circle of friends, and I'm certain that I can do this.
I know, without any doubt, that this step - this big step! - had to be taken, otherwise my hearing was only going to get worse. I have no doubt, none at all, that my understanding of speech will improve radically. I believe also that I will be able to hear musical sounds and sounds of Mother Nature - birds, cicadas, the rustling of leaves in a gentle breeze, crickets, and so much more - sounds that I have not heard in a long, long while. The thing I am most anxious to hear, though, is the chatter of my grandchildren!
