If My Husband Doesn’t Get Hearing Aids I Might Have To Kill Him

There are so many oddball things about getting older. Deepening wrinkles around your eyes. A widening ass that no amount of squats will shrink. Squinting at a restaurant menu like you’re decoding ancient script and needing to carry reading glasses everywhere. All of that is annoying, but the worst, the absolutely WORST, is when your spouse starts losing his hearing and refuses to get hearing aids.

Because here’s the thing: aging isn’t just about what happens to your body. It’s also about what happens to the person you’ve built a life with. And let me tell you, nothing will test your patience, communication skills, and ability to remain a sane, functioning human quite like living with someone who can’t hear you.

It starts small—“Huh?” from the other room. Then the TV volume starts creeping up louder until the neighbors are catching every plot twist. (I am, quite frankly, proud of myself for not hurling the remote out the window and declaring myself officially done with sound.) You start repeating yourself once, twice, three times and talking louder. Shouting. Wondering if you’re shouting too much, but you know you’re not because he still can’t freaking hear you.

That is life with Bill.

I’m not going to lie, I say DAMNIT! under my breath after every interaction where he misses what I say (which is all the time), and I am contemplating carrying around a whiteboard when he is home so we can actually communicate, and OMG!! This. Must. Stop.

Do you have any idea how frustrating this is? How many misheard conversations we’ve had? For example, this morning in the kitchen: Me: What time will you be home tonight? Bill: Right after I make this coffee. And then last night before bed: Me: I need to take a Tylenol before I go to bed. Bill: You need what book, someone said?

Seriously dude?

It’s hard to be a good sport when you always feel like you’re talking into a void and spending most of your energy chasing your man so you can stand in front of him, enunciating slowly and speaking loudly while pointing and gesturing to remind him TO PLEASE SHUT THE GARAGE DOOR WHEN HE LEAVES.

I absolutely understand and emphasize. Hearing loss is a physical ailment, like nearsightedness or high blood pressure. And I’m not mad at Bill, I’m mad at the situation. Ummmm…no…correction. I am angry at Bill and his stubborn refusal to do the one simple thing that would make life better for both of us. Get some damn hearing aids! In all fairness, I’d also be pretty pissed if he didn’t wear his glasses or take his blood pressure medicine, both of which he does without any issues. So why the resistance to hearing aids?

All that leads me to this: Hearing loss doesn’t just affect the person losing their hearing; it affects the rhythm of the home. It alters daily interactions and it steals the tiny moments - soft jokes, quick asides, the quiet “Hey, look at this” - that make a relationship feel close and warm. And it’s freaking exhausting being the person who has to mime everything, you know?

This is a whole chapter of growing older that no one warned me about. And honestly? Out of all the changes and surprises, it’s the one that might be the trickiest wrinkle to iron out.