Here Comes the Rain Again…

My right hook struck his jaw with a satisfying “thwack”.  I probably should have felt worse about this while I sat sullenly in the principal’s office, but I didn’t.  He started it when he pulled out that water gun and aimed for my left hearing aid while we were waiting to enter the middle school.  I felt the splash of water, heard the tell-tale and unwelcome “crackle” – an indication that I was soon going to be on “half power” if I didn’t make a hasty repair.  My motion was sudden, fluid, and filled with a rage that has rarely been awakened in me before or since – and I swung, confident that I would hit my target and inflict the same level of punishment that had just been done to me – whether deliberately or in jest, it didn’t matter.  

The weight of what I had done paled in comparison to the ever rising anxiety I had about the moisture that had landed squarely inside the “computer parts” of my left hearing aid.  I knew I needed to get my hearing aid dried out and that time was of the essence, but this was delayed by my impromptu visit to Mr. Hibbard’s office, again. This kindly principal that, by the end of his tenure at the middle school, had seen me more than once for a variety of infractions – usually for “disturbing the peace” with my lifelong friend Natalie, who absolutely earned this mention – but this time there was a heaviness to my appearance in his office.  My memory is blurred by age, but I do remember that he was responsive, understanding and (possibly) on my side this time. The school nurse offered me a hair dryer, I did what I could to dry out my hearing aid, and returned to class.

I hate water. 

It is the single, most vicious, and ever-present enemy of hearing aid wearers around the globe.  The attack of moisture comes in many forms – often without warning – rain, ocean spray, perspiration, snow, splashes from puddles – and, of course, my classmate’s ill advised “squirt gun”.  The tiniest bit – far less than you would think – has the ability to inflict such significant damage to my hearing aids that it has led me to a life of vigilance that borders on obsessive when I even suspect that the slightest bit of water is in the vicinity.

The weather report calls for “heavy rain” – the “Julie Report” calls for a heavy, waterproof rain coat with a snug fitting hood pulled forward and tied with vinyl drawstrings. My face grows warm, my hair devolves from perfection to disheveled, my hearing aids are screeching with feedback as the rain lets loose its violent attack.  I consider, for a moment, removing my hearing aids and placing them into my pocketbook for the mad dash across the parking lot to my place of employment. My logical mind understands that they will stay dry, but the shrill hysterics of my overprotective mind launches into a litany of reasons that they should remain in my ears – with their wailing pitch – because I might fall and drop my bag, the bag could spring a spontaneous leak, the bag has a secret hole in it and my hearing aids could drop into a puddle…the list goes on and on.

A boat ride with friends and family in Siesta Key down the Intercoastal? Wonderful!  It was literally smooth sailing until the rain began to pour from the sky. I was then met with a chorus of alarmed companions yelling, “JULIE! IT’S RAINING!” in a panicked effort to ensure that I *knew* of the horrors falling from above and that I take immediate cover to protect my hearing aids.

“Do you want to build a snowman?”  No. Absolutely not. The perils of snow are worse than rain in its unpredictability. It could make a direct hit, it could miss, or a snowball thrown in jest could land squarely on the delicate microphone at the top of the hearing aid and destroy processing abilities in a matter of seconds.

(And by the way? Mark and I will never be one of those couples that washes the cars together and then playfully pick up a hose and squirt one another.  And that has nothing to do with my hearing aids – water damage aside, it is just stupid, cheesy and cliche.)

I do, however, revel in the joy of swimming in a pool – or, in my case, floating on a noodle in the shallow end.  My “ears” are out and I can hear next to nothing. I look up at the blue sky above and feel the warmth of the sun. I close my eyes and now there is nothing but stillness, my own thoughts, and Frank Sinatra’s music playing my own private playlist in my mind. It is the closest I have come to complete peace without the use of substances (I’m kidding, Mom! Sort of…).

A glance out the window this morning shows clear skies and a bit of a chill in the air with rays of sunshine illuminating the early frost on the grass.  I prepare for the day as I add my umbrella to my pocketbook, consider gambling with not throwing an extra raincoat in the backseat of my car, and wonder if this old eyeglass case could come in handy as an emergency “stow away” container for hearing aids during unexpected water assaults.

It has been 37 years since I threw that punch – and I still feel justified. 

My dog is named “Rocky”, after all –